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IV 









CHRONICLES 



SOUTHPORT 



IN 1845, 



WITH A VARIETY OF OTHER 



MISCELLANEOUS PIECES, 



WRITTEN EXPRE8SLY FOR 



"THE SOUTHPORT VISITER." 



BY GEORGE WILKINSON. 






SOUTHPORT : 



PRINTED AND PUBLISHED AT THE VISITER OFFICE. 
1846. 



TH H13 

y/4r 



5^40 



PREFACE. 



In submitting- to the Public the following unworthy- 
volume, there appears on its perusal so much am- 
biguity that without a few explanatory words the 
reader may be lost in mist, and regard it as nothing 
more than a November fog. In order to disperse 
the clouds, and place the " Chronicles " in a clear 
light, a word or two about a very anomalous piece 
of architecture called the " Ionic Pillar " will be 
necessary. I need merely state (for I can state 
no more) that it became a thing of this earth in 
the month of June, A.D. 1845, since which period 
it has resolutely maintained its position at the corner 
of Nevill-street ; and it is computed by many that 
nothing subordinate to an earthquake will ever move 



PREFACE. 



it. It is of no earthly use; stands isolated from 
its kind ; is utterly unknown from whence it came ; 
and the same ignorance prevails as to its future 
destiny. It may appear singular to many that any 
one should write about a " Pillar." Perhaps so ; 
but it is no less singular than true that Coleridge 
wrote about a "young ass," and Swift about a 
"broomstick," — the conjoint ideas being no doubt 
taken from the don key- boys. 

However faulty these " Chronicles " may be, they 
are possessed of one grand redeeming point, which 
will be obvious — and that is the truth of them ; 
for as they no doubt will be translated into the 
Italian, Ottoman, Persian, and Egyptian tongues, for 
the individual amusement of the Pope, the Sultan, the 
Imaum, and the Pacha, I have adhered as strictly 
as possible to facts, in order that these great men 
may form a proper estimate of my character. 

With regard to the article entitled the " Ladies 5 
Club," it is nothing more than a dreamy emana- 
tion, generated by the influence of cigars and opium ; 
the former to divert the mind from pain, and the 
latter to relieve it. For this I offer an apology. 



With respect to the rest, there is nothing hut 
what is perfectly intelligible ; or if the reader should 
chance to stumble over anything he cannot com- 
prehend, I trust he will take the advice of the 
author and light his pipe with the unworthy leaf, 
consoling himself with the assurance that he need 
fear no future molestation, for the quill that once 
inscribed these " Chronicles " has long ago been 
turned into a toothpick, 

THE AUTHOR. 



L 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



FRIENDSHIP. 



There is a link in Friendship's heavenly chain, 
Commingling genial souls, that nought can sever ; 

'Tis so unmix'd with self's pervading reign, 
That when once blended, it exists for ever! 

Passion may weaken, nought but death can part, 

That real friendship that ties heart to heart ! 



LINES 



From Fanny's lips I stole a kiss— 
A blush pass'd o'er her cheek ; 

Her dark eye lour'd upon the bliss, 
Although she did not speak. 

" Oh, frown not thus, dear girl," I said ; 

" I only did to thee 
What I would wish, if in thy stead, 

Thou would'st have done to me." 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



A WINTRY NIGHT IN 1845. 



The deep'ning clouds are gath'ring fast, 
Loud roars the wild inconstant blast, 
The pelting rain and furious sleet 
Have raked the cold deserted street ; 
The bleak winds howl, the billows roar 
Afar on the resounding shore, 
And darkness, mantling o'er the light, 
Bespeaks a wild tempestuous night. 

Draw down the blind, the curtains close, 
Stir up the fire from dull repose — 
The kindling flame with shadows bright 
Shall glad us with its genial light : 
The tea is hissing in the urn — 
Draw round the chair, the table turn ; 
And thus shut in, our thoughts shall be 
On outward ills by land and sea. 

And fancy pictures to the eye 
The wild expanse of sea and sky, 
And ships all laden with the price 
Of millions of rich merchandise ; 
Of treasures brought from far Peru, 
Of arts and manufactures too. 
An hundred such methinks I see 
Gulp'd up by the rapacious sea. 

And I can summon up to view 
The avaricious merchant too, 
Now starting as the bellowing blast, 
Increas'd in fury, rushes past, 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



From some high headland gazing far 
For but one solitary star 
To whisper hope, and soothly say — 
The tempest soon will pass away. 

Well, what is gold? 'Tis but the curse 
That makes us rich, and makes us worse ; 
Let all be lost, if it but save 
One guilty mortal from the wave ! 
Wealth dies with time — the soul must be 
Prolonged through all eternity ! 
And better lose the dross of earth 
Than pearls of heaven of so much worth. 

Another blast ! — the infuriate gale 
Still louder bellows forth its wail ; 
Some monster ship methinks I see 
With emigrants cast off at sea — 
Poor exiles from their native soil, 
Embark'd for distant wealth to toil; 
All crowded there to curse or bless 
Death's sealing of their wretchedness. 

Like some mad giant of the deep, 
She and her victims onward sweep ; 
Masts, spars, and bulwarks, sails, and helm, 
All gone ! — till maddening seas o'erwhelm 
The crackling hull ! — one shriek — the last ! — 
Rends sky and ocean, and 'tis past ! 
A thousand victims, knelt in prayer, 
With hands uplifted, perish there. 

And on the bare and trackless heath 
The frozen traveller sleeps in death ; 
And children, worn by foul disease, 
Lie huddled 'neath the leafless trees ! 
In vain their father's rags are spread 
To screen their limbs — the spark hath fled ! 
Whilst he, unpitied, raves for death, 
And, cursing nature, yields his breath. 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



God save the wayward mariner, 

And help the houseless wanderer; 

The widow with her orphans bless, 

And shelter all the shelterless ! 

Give bread to eat, and fire to cheer 

Their hearthless homes, their groanings hear, 

And mitigate, as seemeth right, 

The horrors of this dreadful night. 



THE ALBATRO 



Oh ! wild is the flight of the albatross, sailing 

His range 'mid the skies, over mountain and wave, 
Like a spirit immortal, his might never failing, 
On wings of creation his God only gave. 

Through the storm in its wildness, 

The blackness of night, 
Or the ev'ning of mildness, 
Unchanged is his flight ; 
And he rendeth or rides on the clouds through the air, 
Like the lord of that untrodden wilderness there. 

Where the red sun is blazing his eye never quails, 

Nor cowers to the lightning the earth that hath riv'n ; 
And he mingleth the cry of his wrath as he sails 

With the thunders that roll 'neath the arches of heav'n -, 
And the hope of the wayward 

For ever hath fled 
When he wails o'er the ocean 
His knell for the dead ; 
For the wave will not rest or the wind soften down 
While there's fire in his eye or there's fear in his frown. 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



Is there auglit upon earth like the albatross ? 

With a soul as free and as fetterless — 
A spirit as wild and unstain'd by the dross 
Of the world and its kindred wretchedness? 
An eye never sleeping, 

Or dimm'd by a tear — 
A heart never weeping — 
A soul without fear, 
That would range from its earth bed, the deep vault which lies 
'Neath the glory eternal, whose light never dies. 

Long life to his wide-spreading pinions be given ! 

No bound ever cross him 'mid ocean and sky ! 

Like a spirit of freedom descending from heav'n, 

The soul that la noble responds to his cry. 

Will the blight of creation 

E'er fall on his plume ? 
Will the wild breeze waft o'er him 
The breath of the tomb ? 
Will he die ? Who shall not ? Be the ocean his bed ! 
Wliere the albatross sleepeth in peace with the dead. 



THE SONG OF THE DONKEY. 



My name is Albert. I'm the prince 

Of Ass-anine descent ; 
I bear the cross, because my sires 

To Palestine were sent ; 
And though their courage some may doubt, 

I say to each beholder, 
If he'll but lift the saddle up, 

He'll see it on my shoulder. 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



Alas ! but from the ranks of war 

How basely I've descended ! 
With Bol toners and Wiganers, 

My woes are never ended ; 
For, what with kicks, and sticks, and pricks, 

It's no use to resist 'em : 
They make us work as if we went 

Upon the factory system. 

I've hung my head and slouch'd my ears, 

And tried to look less knightly ; 
But all declare they never saw 

A donkey look so sprightly ! 
And there's a man of eighteen stone 

Determined so to work us, 
He picks me out, because he swears 

He's seen me at a circus. 

I've rais'd my voice along the shore, 

In hopes to meet with pity ; 
But even ladies only smile, 

And say they think I'm witty ! 
So sleek I am, they say also 

I'm very like Beau Brummell ; 
But I pities him if on his back 

He ever had a pommel. 

I've pitch'd some over head and ears, 

Then kick'd them a salute -, 
But they only mount again ; and say, 

" There's mettle in the brute !" 
Once in the Nile I laid me down, 

To cool a Bolton brain, 
When the wulgar wretch declar'd he'd wait 

Till I got up again. 

What shall I do ? My back is stript 

Of all its soft enamel : 
I'm blind with sand ! Why don't they try 

To introduce a camel ? 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



He's fitter for the work than I, 
And well knows what he's arter ; 

He says he'd come, but only fears 
A-running to low-water. 

They tie sweet flowers about my head, 

My features to adorn ; 
But if I get the rose before, 

Behind I get the thorn. 
And when a lady ass I meet, 

Her kind regards revealing, 
I may not even raise my voice 

To indicate my feeling. 

I'll wrench my girth and saddle off, 

And they may take who need 'em ; 
I'll tear the crupper from my tail, 

And wag it well in freedom. 
Huzza for thistles ! Farewell, all ! 

No longer will I stand ills, 
But sing he-ho from morn to night — 

An exile to the sand-hills ! 



ANNIE BELL. 



I saw her in her illness — 'twas her last ! — 

And death, with noiseless footstep, hover'd nigh; 
Her young heart's greenness early felt the blast < 

Of those who love but once, yet, loving, die. 
'Twas sunset — and his crimson glory stream'd 

Like light from where her kindred spirits dwell ; 
And trees, with low, soft murmur, therein gleam'd, 

As, sighing sorrowful, they seem'd to tell, 
Alas ! the hapless doom of poor, poor Annie Bell ! 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



They tell you how, from childhood's early dawn, 

The peaceful hamlet watch'd the op'ning flow'r 
As, in her childish gambols on the lawn, 

Her tiny form in play beguiled the hour ; 
How harmless swains her ruby lips would kiss, 

And bless the sunny light that richly fell 
On her sweet curls and face, like lingering bliss 

From some glad paradise, where once might dwell 
The unborn soul to earth of sweet, sweet Annie Bell ! 

And years roll'd on, and nature's lavish hand 

Still painted richer grace and beauty there \ 
And her clear voice, so beautiful and bland, 

Told happiest thoughts within, so pure and fair; 
Whilst merry, laughing eyes, more soft and blue 

Than the warm summer firmament, could tell 
How much of love her joyous spirit knew, 

And how to nature's charms her soul would swell 
To mingle love with praise, and glad poor Annie Bell ! 

Time flew apace. She lov'd; and, oh! such love 

As angels only feel for God in heaven 
Her young heart treasur'd ! 'Twas the spring which mov'd 

All life's best feelings to the lov'd one given ; 
Or if from that pure font one stream might flow 

Less bright and crystal, 'twas she could not quell 
That worship for the idolised below 

Which should be all her God's. Alas ! too well 
For mind and peace of soul lov'd poor, poor Annie Bell ! 

And when they speak of her, with tearful eyes 

They tell you how at sunny eve they met — 
When nature's face looked beautiful with dyes 

Of mellowest glory ; when, the grief and fret 
Of earth forgotten, near the streamlet's edge, 

'Neath soft laburnams, they of love would tell, 
And heart to heart each burning passion pledge ; 

Whilst incens'd flow'rets only breathed the spell 
Of that deep rapture known to happy Annie Bell ! 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



And now why lies she in the garb of death ? 

Why gush th' unbidden tears from those sweet eyes 
Once sorrowless ? Why fades the perfum'd breath, 

And sobs of anguish from her bosom rise ? 
Why turns she from her gaze that lock of hair 

Once rapturously kiss'd ? Oh, why repel 
The chaste white garment she had thought to wear 

When merry church bells there would chronicle 
The happy change in life that blest poor Annie Bell ? 

A villain gain'd her heart, and prov'd untrue — 

Crush'd with a serpent's coil that angel flow'r 
More sweet than incense breath'd from heav'nly dew, 

With all earth's excellence. Enough ! The hour 
Fast closes round her ; all around is still, 

And nature seems to pause ! One tear that fell, 
Like the last drop grief ever more could spill, 

Bedew'd her channel'd face ; and where may dwell 
Enraptur'd saints in light, there dwells poor Annie Bell ! 

They point you out the grave (now verdant o'er 

With moss and wild flowers) in the small churchyard, 
Where they who knew her sadly stay to pour 

The last sad tribute of unfeign'd regard ; 
There stands the humble urn ; o'er those remains 

"No blazing characters her virtues tell ; 
But in that simple hamlet's bosom reigns 

The monument where evermore will dwell, 
Inscrib'd in holy tears, thy fate, poor Annie Bell ! 



10 POETICAL ESSAYS. 



MERCY. — A DREAM. 



The last fading ray of the sunlight had flown, 

And the mantle of night o'er the ocean was thrown — 

The wail of the wretched, the revel of glee,. 

Like the silent departed, slept peacefully ; 

For the spirit o'erloaded with sorrow and care, 

In the softness of slumber, had ceas'd to despair ; 

Whilst the visions of thought o'er my intellect stream'd, 

The power of reason decay'd — and I dream'd. 

And methought that I stood where no foot ever trod, 

On a shore where no being e'er look'd on but God -, 

No angel of solace drew nigh me to bless 

My heart in that howling wilderness ; 

But a form uncloth'd in the flesh of man, 

With ghastly countenance, pale and wan, 

Afar in the desert, with hollow breath, 

Call'd me away to his shrine : it was death. 

I follow'd the vision with fearful eyes, 

Like a victim ordain'd as a sacrifice — 

Through the dark retreats of his cave we past : 

He paused, and upon me the death-look cast; 

And a small bright star shone in the gloom 

Its feeble light on a new-made tomb. 

It was a terrible sight to view 

My home in the earth to the life anew, 

While the yellow arm was raised on high, 

Like the headsman's blade to the culprit's eye ; 

And the icy fingers slowly fell 

To free the soul from its earthly shell ! 

Now I looked on the gaping tomb with dread, 

For a reckless life of sin I had led. 

Methought I could feel death's cold hand divide 

The frail thread of existence — Mercy ! I died ! 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 11 



And the hour ? — the eleventh ! What love reigns in heaven ! 
That wild cry was answer'd — all sin was forgiven ! 
And the angels of light wing'd the soul to its rest, 
Repentent ! — elect ! — through eternity blest ! 



- — ==K33©©>£>«=- 

LINES IN ILLNESS. 



When moonlight trembles on the deep, 
And winds have sigh'd themselves to sleep 
When all is solemn stillness save 
Th' eternal plashing of the wave, 
And voiceless spirits seem to stir 
The soul to holiness and pray'r — 
To lull the fret and grief that we 
Endure from life's perplexity : 
Oh ! then, at such an hour, we feel 
The cank'ring wound of woe to heal ; 
The tear to dry upon the cheek 
When all creation seems to speak 
Of righteousness. We hear the word, 
The mild response of nature's God ; 
We bless it, and we praise the Bless'd. 
" The heavy laden have their rest." 
Away, the world ! For life why thirst ? 
The bubble pleasure long hath burst, 
And wan disease, with sickly breath, 
But heralds the approach of death. 
I fain would part with all in peace 
As tranquil as an hour like this, 
With holy peacefulness of soul 
To harmonise with praise the whole, 
And faith to know, whilst yet I live, 
W T hat God hath given he still will give ; 
Though undeserved, such gifts will be 
Prolonged through all eternity. 



12 POETICAL ESSAYS. 



THE TWO TRADERS. 



A down the west the ev'ning shade 

Had lastly bid farewell to day, 
And sweetly o'er each silent glade 
The moon had shed her silver ray ; 
The night was sweet — 
No leaf e'en deign'd 
A breeze to greet 
Where silence reign'd : 
'Twas like an eve when saints might rise 
To wander forth from paradise. 

Yet quickly bounding o'er that shore 
The sound of human steps is near : 
A burden in his arms he bore, 

And wild his looks with inward fear ; 
The ghastly glare 

The shrouded cheek — 
Of deep despair 

They seem'd to speak ; 
And wildly o'er that barren waste 
A tall and frenzied figure pac'd. 

He bore a babe — as sweet a child 

As ever press'd its mother's knee ; 
Its angel smile and forehead mild 
Were emblems of its purity. 
He did embrace 

Its tender weight, 
And kiss'd its face 
In mad delight : 
It seem'd the only thing to bless 
His bosom in its wretchedness. 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 13 



He sate him down upon the road, 

Among the Appenines, where lay- 
No trace of human man's abode : 
All desolate, he wip'd away 
The burning tear, 

And onward went, 
Whilst on his ear 
Did sweetly melt, 
Like solace from some heavenly clime, 
The distant toll of convent chime. 

And 'neath the portal of the pile, 

A victim of despair, he stood, 
And echo'd at the gate. The smile 
Of morning fann'd his feverish blood. 
The holy strain 

Of matin praise 
The cloister'd voices 
Sweet did raise : 
So sweet it was, it seem'd to be 
The hymn of truth and purity. 

But whence the sound — the shrilly sound- 
That falls upon the startled ear ? 
The voices falter, and around 
The pious abbot gaz'd with fear : 
A stranger tall, 

With flowing hair, 
Did madly fall 

Before him there — 
A wretch that sought, and humbly knelt 
To pray for mercy on his guilt. 

" Oh, holy father !" cried the man, 
" A tale of guilt I must unfold, 
To ease the torture of this ban 

That kills my rest ; but this I hold— - 
This precious babe, 
My only care— 



14 POETICAL ESSAYS. 



Its mother's cheek, 
Its mother's hair — 
The blossom of her form divine : — 
I love it ! still it is not mine. 

" Oh ! if the saints on high can heal 
The heart corroded o'er and riv'n, 
Oh, father ! tell me how to feel 

The pray'r that sues for crimes forgiv'n ; 
For I would gain 
A long release, 
And in the grave' 
My troubles cease ; 
For vengeance never will forbear 
To fall upon a murderer. 

" There was a time when not a sigh 
Did ever show my want of peace ; 
There was a time when one sweet eye 
Could bid my every trouble cease ; 
But that is gone, 
And all is gone 
Away ; and I 
Am left alone 
To tell what all my crimes have been, 
But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin. 

" I had a brother ; and I lov'd 
A maiden of all others true, 
In whom, alas ! it hapless prov'd 
My brother's love was centred too. 
The nuptial peal — 

The marriage glee — 
Rang through the hall, 
But not for me ! 
The vision of my hope had flown — 
She and my brother both were one \ 

" But, oh ! the flow'r her cheek had fled— 
Upon her lip no smile was there ; 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 



15 



The sparkle of her eye was dead ; 
The bosom's truth was painted fair. 
Her father bade her 

Take the oath ; 
Her conscience and 
Her heart did loathe. 
Alas ! a cruel father he, 
To blast his child's felicity ! 

" But yet I can remember still 

She loved me — yet she dare not speak, 
But left concealment, like the worm, 
To feed and canker on her cheek ; 
And soon the cold 

Command of death 
For ever quench'd 
Her fev'rish breath, 
And set her spotless spirit free 
To everlasting purity. 

u Yet, though her eye untimely clos'd 

For ever in eternal night, 
How short my brother's grief ! The wealth 
Of thousands glitter'd in his sight. 
But I did hear 

The passing bell — 
The sadness of 
Its solemn knell : 
It rent my heart — I know not how ! 
Methinks I hear it vibrate now !" 



He wip'd away the burning drops 

That bath'd his temples and his brow : 
It seem'd to sooth his inward pain 
To tell it to another now : — 
" My brother robb'd," 

He cried, " by stealth, 
My fortunes, to 
Increase his wealth ; 



16 POETICAL ESSAYS. 



By artifice 'twas torn from me. 
He was a cruel enemy ! 

" We both were traders on the main ; 

And oft would fortune throw us wide 
To distant shores away, and still 
The deadly hate would not subside. 
We never spoke 

As brothers do, 
But hated as 
We nearer drew, 
And. panted for each other's blood. 
Still years passed onward in this feud. 

" Far o'er the wide Atlantic sea, 

To western shores, my brother sail'd ; 
But Cephalonia, Zante, Corfu, 
And other southern isles, I hail'd ; 
And fortune seem'd 

At length to be 
The star of my 
Prosperity ! 
Whilst on the wave, by tempests toss'd, 
My brother's wealth and ships were lost. 

" The hand that seem'd to lend him aid, 

And kindly guide him, was withdrawn \ 
And he in madness saw at length 
The sorrows of misfortune dawn : 
My toils rewarded 

He did see — 
It fann'd the flame 
Of enmity ! 
Ambitious hopes his breast assail'd ; 
And thus from west to south he sail'd. 

" Three sleepless nights have hurried by — 
Three sleepless nights of misery ! 

I would not, father, feel again 
That time for peace eternally ; 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 17 



For all that was 

By heaven will'd 
In deeds of darkness 
Was fulfilled : 
My brother's rage in death was o'er, 
And mine in coldness was no more ! 

" 'Twas on a night — a dreadful night ! — 

Within my cabin close I lay ; 
My gallant comrades o'er me kept 
The midnight vigil ; and the ray 
Of heavenly light 
Did sweetly rest 
Upon the ocean's 
Azure breast ; 
Alas ! but o'er its soft control 
The shades of darkness quickly stole. 

" My dreams were broken, and methought 

I heard the crash of thunders fall, 
The dash of billows, and the voice 
Of mighty winds ; and then o'er all 
The lightning's glare 

Did wildly stream — 
I heard the sea-bird's 
Hollow scream : 
There was but near me and afar 
The strife of elemental war. 

" I strode the deck with hurried pace, 

And there was not a hopeful ray 
Shed o'er the sombre gloom. But where— 
My gallant comrades — where are they ? 
I call'd — but none 

My voice could hear — 
No friendly voiee 
Responded near ; 
The waves their winding-sheet had spread : 
I call'd, but on the silent dead. 



18 POETICAL ESSAYS. 



" I look upon the ocean wave 
As on my everlasting bed ; 
The swell of waters struck mine ears — 
My vessel sank, and o'er my head 
The billows clos'd, 
And loudly rung 
Within mine ears ; 
But still I clung 
Unto a wreck : though hope was past, 
The floating remnant still I grasped. 

" My eyes were held aloft to heav'n — 
My bosom heav'd its latest pray'r ; 
I cried for mercy, and methought 
My pray'r was not unheeded there ; 
For kindly heaven, 

Though all was strife, 
Had bless'd the waning 
Flame of life ! 
I felt its sands were nearly run, 
And cried, e Oh, God, thy will be done !' 

" And louder still the tempest beat, 

And louder dash'd the stormy wave. 
I gaz'd, but I could only see 
The lightning pointing out my grave : 
It rent the sky, 

And by its light 
Another object 
Met my sight — 
A hapless vessel that, like me, 
Was left at th' mercy of the sea. 

" Oh ! had I ne'er that vessel seen, 

But clos'd my eyes to ope no more, 
The consciousness of guilty deeds 
And sorrow had alike been o'er. 
Again I look'd 

To heav'n, and knelt, 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 19 



And pity for 
The victims felt. 
Oh, father had I known — but hark ! — 
That vessel — 'twas my brother's bark ! 

" The gushing tide, the mighty winds, 

Her ev'ry trembling rafter shook ; 
She sank to rise no more, for on 
The adamantine rock she struck ! 
And only one 

Was left to tell 
The tale of woe 
That on him fell — 
Of storm and agony extreme — 
The death-shriek and the dying scream. 

" I look'd again — the morning light 

At last descended on the shore : 
Oh, God ! the sight that greeted me, 
Forbid I ever should see more ! 
My brother's form — 

I knew it well — 
I heard him laugh 
With fiendish yell ! 
And pointed scornfully at me, 
The dying victim of the sea. 

" The last sad thought to all on earth — 

To which I breath' d my farewell sigh- 
The meditation of the grave — 
The hope of happiness on high, 
That sooth'd when others 

Were denied : 
Those sacred joys 
Within me died ; 
No more they sweetly proffer'd rest — 
Revenge rekindled in my breast ! 

" I struggled with the billows hard — 
I breasted them ! — and then again 



20 POETICAL ESSAYS. 



My brother laugh'd at me. Oh, God ! 
It was no time for mockery ! 
The flame of vengeance 

Nerved my hand — 
I fought the storm — 
I gain'd the land ! 
I had a dagger in my belt, 
And quick the murd'rous blow was dealt I 

" And there he lay ! — the purple stream 

His silent bosom trickled o'er ; 
His eye was clos'd, his breast was bath'd 
Within the coldness of its gore : 
And then in kinder 
Words I spake — 
Oh, father! but 

He would not wake — 
He would not wake, for sound he slept. 
I gaz'd upon the corse, and wept ! 

" A sleeping infant near him lay ; 

It was his child — his only child ! 
I kiss'd its tender brow ; but when 
Th' unconscious little cherub sniil'd, 
The tear of anguish 

Dimmed my eye- 
It was its mother's 
Smile on high. 
I could not look — my heart it brake : 
I sav'd it for its mother's sake ! 

" Among these dreary Appenines 

In vain I've sought a safe retreat ; 
I've wander'd long and far, but still 
The heart no friendly peace can greet. 
The guilty sin 

Comes o'er me now \ 
The burning drops 
Bedew my brow ', 



POETICAL ESSAYS. 21 



And heav'n will never cleanse the sin 
Of what I am, and what I've been ! 

" There is a feeling lingers here — 

An earthly feeling — and a call 
Upon the heart. Wilt thou but save 
This baby, and I abjure all ? 
And may it ne'er 
Lisp the name 
Of him whp sleeps 
In guilt and shame : 
Oh, father, may it never know 
Its uncle's guilt, its father's woe !" 

The old man saw his dying look, 

And sadly heard the parting breath ; 
The man of sorrow ceas'd to weep 
For ever in eternal death ! 
The abbot low 

Knelt by his side — 
u May heav'n forgive !" 
He faintly cried ; 
" But where the earthless soul hath flown, 
I dread to think ; but he is gone V 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS, 



MR. DANIEL DARIUS DAMPER. 



-, there 



Ixa small market town, in the county of B 

resided once a medical gentleman named Blood, who, from 
comparative nothingness, had risen to a very enviable share 
of respectable practice. It is true that he had climbed this 
pinnacle upon the backs of the paupers, and by sundry similar 
stepping-stones ; which system of progression having attained 
for him a philanthropic character, at length drew down the 
favours of the opulent. Thus heavily burdened with the 
public kindness, no wonder that he began to groan beneath 
the yoke, and very wisely concluded an assistant would be 
requisite. With this assistant, rather than the great man 
himself, our story has to deal ; and, without further preface, 
I propose to introduce to the patience of the reader Mr. 
Daniel Darius Damper. It is the misfortune of many men 
engaged in medical pursuits, either by improvidence or un- 
avoidable events, to be compelled to relinquish those studies, 
even when the goal of consummation is in view. It was thus 
with Mr. Daniel Darius Damper ; which mishap reduced him 
to this subordinate grade in his profession. It is, therefore, 
no matter of astonishment that, with an education incom- 



26 MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



plete, he should be but feebly cognisant of some parts of that 
peculiar knowledge essential to the education of a medical 
man. But this mattered not to Mr. Damper. He relied, as 
he expressed it, more upon nature's powers and the provi- 
dence of God than on pills, potions, and plasters. Perhaps 
he was right. But to our tale. 

It so happened that after being installed about a week in 
his new occupation, the head of the establishment was called 
away, and in the hands of Mr. Damper were reposed the lives 
and health of the community. This, in the abstract, appears 
serious ; but in the philosophy of Mr. Damper nothing was 
more frivolous, for his treatment of disease was founded not 
on judgment, but on rules, the which he exercised with as 
much precision as a schoolboy would the English grammar. 
He despised exceptions, and could reconcile his conscience to 
the greatest lapsus by this golden rule — 

" I bleeds, I purges, and I sweats 'em ; 
And if they die, why then— I lets 'em !" 

And it was so. It cannot be denied that when looking over 
his list of patients his dignity appeared in the ascendant, for 
one glance assured him, from the importance of the cases, 
that great confidence had been reposed in him ; but even 
before he had seen them his mode of treatment was deter- 
mined, and he chuckled at his own wit, whilst enumerating 
each disease. Having cajoled himself with sundry little plea- 
santries (certainly better enjoyed by himself than his patients), 
he started off with an elastic step to visit them. As a similar 
fate fell uniformly upon all, it will be unnecessary to describe 
them : perhaps had there been fewer cases, less mortality 
might have been the consequence. But no matter. 

Night already began to draw near before Mr. Damper com- 
pleted ; but, with the exception of one case, all were visited. 
He looked hard at the paper, and, by strong orthographical 
power, descried the word "Monomania ;" but what it meant 
was a mania to him entirely. Somewhat puzzled, he knew 
not how to act. He had prescribed for all the rest with a 
celerity that delighted him ; as it was, he blew his nose, and 
hesitated ; but as serious consideration was not a constituent 
part of his nature, he determined at a hazard to call, and 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



27 



make the best of it. The residence of the gentleman afflicted 
with this unhappy disorder was the most wealthy and magni- 
ficent for many miles around. The proprietor, formerly a 
man of considerable talent, had reaped a rich harvest by 
railway speculations — attended, however, by a corresponding 
loss of intellect, the unfortunate gentleman not being able to 
stand corn. It was upon the one subject of railway transac- 
tions his brain became inverted ; which unlucky summerset 
could never afterwards be rectified. It had been occasioned 
by the success, rather than the failure, of his projects ; and 
in such cases the insanity is usually more aggravated than by 
extreme misfortune. His flights upon the subject were, 
therefore, more serial than dejected, and though sometimes 
dangerous to others (as will be shown)^ were attended with 
happier consequences to himself. 

Mr. Damper, with an uncertain knowledge of what he was 
going to do, at length drew up at the hall-door, and, with 
the ring of a nobleman, or something doubly consequential, 
announced his waiting for admittance. A silvered lacquey 
answered the appeal, and, with the door swinging in his hand, 
demanded his name. Mr. Damper, presenting his card, with 
a little preliminary explanation, was forthwith ushered into 
the apartment of the invalid. On entering, he could not 
withstand being forcibly struck by the singular appearance of 
the room. Everything exhibited the most confused disorder. 
The large round table, evidently designed for the centre of 
the room, was pushed into a corner, with one leg off — resem- 
bling in appearance an idle target which had laid down to 
rest itself; the sofa, instead of using four legs, was stuck up 
on end on two, like a dog begging ; some of the chairs were 
erect and others prostrate, as though a ravaging pestilence 
had come upon them ; and every article of furniture bore an 
equal deviation from the perpendicular. The only exception 
to this irregularity was the man himself, who was dressed 
with the most scrupulous neatness ; and Mr. Damper congra- 
tulated himself on beholding this one piece of rationality. 
The usual compliments having passed between them, Mr. 
Damper accepted one of the fallen chairs presented to him, 
and proceeded with the business forthwith. 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



" I have the honour," said he, somewhat timidly, " to offi- 
ciate for Mr. Blood during his brief absence. I sincerely hope, 
sir, I may have the pleasure of reporting favourably of your 
case on his return. " 

" Sir ?" said the invalid. 

Now, Mr. Damper had made a long speech, and did not 
relish the idea of repeating it; he, therefore, concluded an 
abridgement was necessary, and merely said, " I hope you are 
better, sir." 

" I never was ill yet," replied the invalid, " that I know of." 

Mr. Damper's eyes evinced a slight shade of astonishment ; 
but he was silent, and rapidly reflected on the possibility of 
his having made a mistake ; but, quick as thought, he re- 
turned to the charge. 

i! If I mistake not, I believe myself in the presence of Mr. 
Trainer, of Tranbury Hall." 

" The same, sir," said the gentleman, coldly. 

" I have instructions from my employer to call on you," 
rejoined Mr. Damper, " and to be diligent in my attendance. 
I hope my poor services may be useful." 

" I perceive, sir," said the invalid, as though a sudden 
gleam of comprehension had come over him. " And when 
did Mr. Blood leave home ?" 

" This morning, by the railway," responded Mr. Damper. 

This was quite enough ! Matters were now at a crisis. Mr. 
Damper had touched upon the one cord which set in motion 
all the springs of his insanity. That one word, u railway !" 
did its business; and the apparently sane man became as 
diametrically mad. 

There was a slight pause. 

" You will take wine ?" inquired the invalid, placing the 
chairs upside down, and supporting their bottoms on the edge 
of the inclined table, whilst the decanter and glasses slided 
down the hill, and were only prevented from falling to the 
ground by the broad rim which encircled the edge. 

" With pleasure, sir," said Mr. Damper, rather confusedly, 
at the same time placing himself on his somewhat equivocal 
seat. " I prefer sherry." 

The glasses were filled. 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 29 



w Pop !" said the gentleman. 

" Sir?" said Mr. Damper. 

" Pop !" repeated the other. 

"Yes ; or ginger beer/' answered Mr. Damper. 

" Bang !" vociferated the gentleman, sending his glass of 
wine, with furious velocity^ through a square of glass, and 
emitting his breath by fits and starts, like sudden gusts of 
steam from an engine. 

"Capital!" shouted Mr. Damper, thinking it a joke. 
" X ever saw a better aim in all my life !" 

" Phiz-z-z !" roared out the other, and up went the decanter 
to the very ceiling, descending immediately on the floor, and 
shivering into a thousand pieces ; the stopper, however, having 
disentangled itself, came down with rather unceremonious 
violence on the nose of Mr. Damper, causing that very re- 
spectable feature to shed blood. At the same time, the 
gentleman set up every hideous noise a railway engine is 
capable of making. Mr. Damper thought this rather too 
much — certainly more than was necessary to constitute a 
joke; and at the same time he wondered with all his might 
what the deuce the word '''monomania" meant. 

a Time !" shouted out his patient again, springing upon 
two chairs, and seizing the bell-rope, which he pulled with 
all his might. " We're off !" 

Mr. Damper inwardly made prayer that it might be so, 

At the sound of the bell a footman appeared- at the door, 
and Mr. Damper was astonished to see that no symptom of 
amazement was visible on his face. Strange ! thought he ; 
but I'll wait. But his patient resolutions were instantly dis- 
concerted at the voice of the madman. 

"Send in the mastiff!" shouted he, in a thunder-and- 
lightning kind of tone. " I'll blast the interests of all man- 
kind ! Send in the mastiff! Close the window-shuts without, 
and bring in three dozen flambeaus ! — blazing ! — burning ! — 
hot ! We must have signals," said he, more mildly, to Mr. 
Damper. " You will pardon my neglige, for an engine of five 
thousand horse power ; but I'll return immediately under the 
very highest pressure !" 

Mr. Damper groaned aloud, and vainly tried to assure the 



30 MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



patient that he was convinced of his superior force without 
any further proof, for he now perceived that he was stark, 
staring mad, and doubted his capabilities of encountering 
both him and the mastiff, whenever that superfluous visiter 
should come ; but his eloquence had no effect. The madman 
had not yet reached the height of his fit, but forthwith pro- 
ceeded to open a door, which, Mr. Damper perceived, led 
into an ante-room — a vestiary, having two steps below the 
level of the room. On a sudden the place became dark — the 
shutters were closed, and the lights had not yet made their 
appearance ; but, much to his relief, the servant appeared in 
a few minutes with an innumerable number of ignited candles, 
which he placed in different parts of the room, and at varied 
distances, yet all forming, as nearly as possible, two rows of 
lights upon the floor, at either side. Mr. Damper felt grateful 
for this attention, and could not forbear expressing his grati- 
tude to the man in livery, but insinuated, at the same time, 
that a less quantity might have served the purpose. 

" Less would not do," answered the servant, peevishly. 
"The journey absolutely requires them." 
"What journey ?" asked Mr. Damper. 
" I don't know," replied the servant. 

Mr. Damper naturally thought it rather paradoxical, and 
felt a little ruffled at being trifled with by a menial; but he 
smothered his emotion, and politely said he had a favour to 
beg. 

" Name it !" said the other. 

" That you will not bring in the mastiff," replied Mr. 
Damper, anxiously. 
" He must come." 
" For why ?" 

" He's the stoker," said the servant. 

" The what ?" inquired Mr. Damper ; but the man, per- 
ceiving the door of the ante-room getting ajar, abruptly 
quitted the apartment. 

" They're all mad alike 1" groaned Mr. Damper ; " stark, 
staring mad, and God help me !" He had not long, however, 
to tremble in suspense ; all the vast resources of his mind 
were speedily summoned into requisition, for, at one and the 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



31 



same moment, the mastiff was shoved into the room and the 
maniac entered from his tiring-place. With a desperate, and, 
to do him justice, a manly effort, Mr. Damper prepared him- 
self for action, as all chance of reconciliation he considered 
futile. Even in the midst of horror, he could not suppress a 
smile at the grotesque appearance of his patient. Upon his 
head, rising about three quarters of a yard in the air, he wore 
a metallic funnel, from which was contrived to emanate a 
cloud of smoke ; his body was encased in card-board, made 
to shine most brilliantly by means of black-lead, but too 
cylindrical to have the appearance of armour ; around his 
waist was a broad black belt, on which was inscribed, in huge 
phosphoric letters, " BLAZER ;" — and on either side of his 
knees was fixed a revolving wheel, which rattled round with 
such a crackling velocity as to give the idea of his leg and 
thigh bones snapping off by inches. Mr. Damper tucked 
himself up closely by the wall, while the madman busily 
yoked himself to a square table upon castors, and, having 
wildly completed the arrangement, sung out in a stentorian 
voice for the dog — "Stoker!" The animal immediately 
leaped upon the table. 

" Hecla ! Etna ! Vesuvius ! and furies !" roared the mad- 
man; and away he went, like some mighty engine broken 
loose, round the room, while the dog and he mingled their 
howlings together. It was only by dint of excessive agility 
that Mr. Damper could save himself from being smashed to 
pieces ; slight contusions and abrasions he contentedly put 
up with, and all he tried to guard against was concussion or 
compression of the brain. There were yet lights in the room ; 
but, alas ! even these were destined to be but of short 
duration : by ones, twos, and threes, they were knocked over 
and extinguished, and, as the shutters were closed, Mr. 
Damper found himself in total darkness. To know which 
way to turn, was impossible ; from one hiding-corner he 
was chased on to another, receiving continued jams and 
bruises from the flying table — not to mention similar misfor- 
tunes brought on by himself with running his head and other 
members against sharp projections and angles in the dark. 
He tried the door, wondering very much he had never thought 



32 MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



of that before ; but that too, was closed against him, being 
so constructed as to lock itself when shut. He, therefore, 
trusted to his ears, in order to regulate his movements by the 
help of sound, hoping desperately that the maniac would at 
last become exhausted. On a sudden, a tremendous smash, 
as of glass, and a clashing of fire-irons, with a horrible fall 
close by his side, roused him to a sudden leap from his 
lurking-place. 

"There goes a poker !" roared the madman. 

" Mercy I" ejaculated Mr. Damper. 

"There goes a carving-knife!" continued the other, in a 
louder and fiercer voice. 

" God help me !" cried Mr. Damper, as he felt a sharp cut 
below his ear from which the blood was trickling. 

" There goes a blunderbuss !" yelled the other, whilst a 
thundering explosion shook the very house to its foundation, 
and in a second after Mr. Damper felt the enormous weapon 
whiz past, which, however, he this time luckily escaped. 

Onward swept the table with increased velocity, and wilder 
yelled the dog and madman, until poor Darius, sinking back 
against the wall, quietly waited for the last sad smash. But 
the blunderbuss had not been without its use — verifying the 
old proverb that " good comes out of evil" — for by its light 
he recognised the door of the room in which his adversary 
had retired to dress himself. His first impression was to make 
for it, and hide himself; but a second thought convinced him 
that he should only be pent up in closer danger : he, there- 
fore, with wonderful aptness of mind, groped his way towards 
it, and threw the door wide open, and again, as adroitly as 
he could, put himself on the defensive. Again the maniac 
bellowed like a bursting engine, and again the dog (or stoker) 
howled like a legion of wild Indians, when, after two or three 
successive whirls about the room, bang went madman, dog, 
and table, heads and heels together, down the steps into the 
ante-room. 

"Thank God!" cried Mr. Damper, in an ecstacy; and, 
quick as lightning, he closed the door upon them, and securely 
locked it. 

" The devil has grabbed me at the terminus !" shouted the 
madman. 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 33 



"Then the devil may loose you," echoed Mr. Damper, 
" for 1*11 be d — d if I do !" And, pocketing the key, he made 
for the drawing-room door, and with two or three stupendous 
kicks shivered the panel to pieces, and escaped. He waited 
not for any explanation, but, rushing past all the servants 
aud domestics, never stopped his pace till he arrived at home, 
and threw himself into a chair. " Small-pox, measles, or 
influenza may be all very well," said he ; " but no more 
monomania for me !" 



3IR. PLUTO PLUMTREE. 



It is a very amusing kind of gratification, when doomed to 
confinement by disease or other causes, to review the scenes 
and incidents of the past, especially if there be many green 
spots in the wilderness of life which have illumined its pil- 
grimage. On these we dwell, and are reconciled by the 
reflection that, if we suffer, we have once enjoyed, and the 
future is gilded with brighter hopes of ease and happiness. 
Among the various scenes of bygone days, I shall not hesitate 
to relate the following, and can vouch for the truth of it 
(ahem !) from one wiiom I esteem it my greatest happiness to 
be able to call my friend. In doing this, I trust the reader 
is prepared to pardon my rude ideas of delicacy whilst I 
unfold the secrets of the charnel-house, which I hope may 
edify, without spreading the pestilence around. 

There is, perhaps, no class of persons whose professional 
avocations are so much fraught with peculiar interest as those 
of the student in medicine ; the scenes he witnesses, and the 



34 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



Amongst such characters there is always a mutual good 
feeling, so long as pedantry, or the assumption of superior 
knowledge, is avoided, but when once practised a general 
feeling of dislike is manifest. An individual of the name of 
Mr. Pluto Plumtree unfortunately became a victim of this 

description in the hospital of ; and may the lesson 

taught him be a warning-light to others. It is true that 
originally he had never entertained such exalted notions of 
himself; but having received so many assurances of his exten- 
sive capabilities either from hollow friends or over-zealous 
patrons, no wonder that he at last became infected with the 
mania, and resolved not only to excel in the ordinary princi- 
ples of his profession, but, by one mighty master-stroke, to 
discover in the human frame the very essence of life itself. 
From a previous state of apathy, this resolution became the 
one absorbing theme of his attention, and the achievement of 
it the very idol of his soul. He aped the manners and writings 
of the ancients ; spoke of himself and Aristotle, Paracelsus 
and the immortal Harvey in the same breath ; read Franken- 
stein, and, knowing it to be a fiction, advocated the possibi- 
lity of its being realised. His manner became grave; his eyes 
were continually bent upon the ground, as though disgusted 
with the sight of ordinary objects; and his hair, which for- 
merly obscured his eyes like long, dank water-flags, was 
brushed behind his ears — no doubt in imitation of the Grecian 
academicians. Thus rapidly and singularly metamorphosed, 
he speedily became a wonder in the school, and drew forth 
jeers and exclamations by no means complimentary ; but 
these he disregarded with a sneer, and rather gloried in the 
martyrdom of his position, which stimulated him to increased 
exertion in the prosecution of his search. He returned home- 
wards that day from the dissecting-room with sensations 
scarcely to be considered mortal: so confident was he of a 
successful issue, that his imagination became peopled with a 
thousand vague absurdities — angels wreathing laurels on his 
brow, nature paying homage at his feet, and women, men, 
and children chaunting praises for his bestowal of perpetual 
life upon the human race. Night came ; but his intensity of 
rapture continued unabated; the hour of sleep was far 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 35 



advanced ; still he paced, with folded arms, the narrow 
limits of his apartment ; and morning might have found him 
burning with enthusiasm, had not his fellow-lodger bounced 
into the room and talked of using force of a physical descrip- 
tion if he did not moderate the violence of his soliloquies and 
suffer him to sleep. Mr. Plumtree paused — reflected for a 
moment — thought the matter reasonable, and apologised. 
He went to bed, but not to sleep ; and the sun rose upon 
him, unrefreshed and feverish with his night's excitement, 
As a criminal is sometimes known to array himself in his best 
attire on the morning of his execution, so Mr. Plumtree 
adorned himself from the choicest of his wardrobe — not pre- 
suming to enter on his solemn labour in a slovenly or unbe- 
coming manner; and having crammed a green baize bag to 
the very throat with divers knives and surgical instruments, 
he commenced his journey to the scene of operation. 

It was a sharp, cold December morning, and numerous 
students were gathered round the fire of the dissecting-room, 
talking over the frolic of the previous night — broken lamps, 
dismembered knockers, " hair-breadth 'scapes," &c. — whilst 
the more industrious were silently dissecting their respective 
parts, and occasionally joining in the conversation. All, 
however, entered freely into discussion when the conduct of 
Mr. Plumtree was introduced, and many were the laughable 
surmises and speculations made upon it. Roars of laughter 
on the subject were echoed through the room, enough to wake 
the very dead before them, when Mr. Plumtree, armed with 
his huge green bag, and several ponderous volumes tucked 
beneath his arm, entered the apartment. His whole appear- 
ance was solemn in the extreme, and a frozen hauteur icicled 
his countenance on all around. Slowly, but with a firm step, 
without any salutation to his colleagues, he approached a 
table, whereon lay stretched the body of a subject brought in 
fresh the previous day, and, calmly seating himself beside it, 
waited with a show of patience the retirement of the last 
student ; but this appeared a task much longer and more for- 
midable than he anticipated, for such was the amusement 
caused by the singularity of his conduct, that no one seemed 
inclined to move, but pertinaciously waited in order to witness 
his proceedings. 



36 



MEMORIALS OP MEDICALS. 



" That's a splendid subject we got in yesterday," said a wag 
with a cigar in his mouth. 

" Beautiful !" rejoined another in moustaches ; " and I 
mean to have a cut at it." 

" I intend to take the head and neck," said a hang-dog- 
looking fellow in a pilot coat. 

" And I the arm and hand, in order to appreciate the 
beauty of the ring finger," said a fop. 

" And I the leg !" 

"And I the trunk!" 

"And I " But Mr. Plumtree here interposed, stating 

that it was nseless to apportion the different parts, as he had 
purchased the whole of the subject himself. This announce- 
ment created a general dislike against him, which was suffi- 
ciently manifest; but Mr. Plumtree still maintained the 
gravity of his position. At length, irritated beyond endur- 
ance, one more curious than the rest demanded what he was 
going to do. 

Mr. Plumtree, unloosing the strings of his green bag, and 
arranging on the table a profusion of scalpels, saws, chisels, 
knives, &c, and opening one of his huge volumes, replied, 
with a momentous emphasis, that he was going to search for 
the essence of life. 

" More likely the essence of tobacco," said the wag with 
the cigar in his mouth. 

" Or the essence of bears' grease," said the gentleman with 
moustaches. 

" Or the essence of tar," said the sailor-looking man. 

" Perhaps of bergamot or lemon," added the fop ; "a plea- 
sant fragrance in a dissecting-room — very !" 

Gibes and taunts of this description were lavishly bestowed 
upon him, until night drew on apace; but the silence of Mr. 
Plumtree eliciting but little repartee, they one by one quitted 
the apartment. When the last student left the room, and 
darkness lay around, Mr. Plumtree trimmed his lamp, and 
addressed himself to study. 

There is, perhaps, no other place in which we feel so much 
the nothingness of life as in the dissecting-room. In daylight 
this effect is lost, or much diminished, by the hilarity of 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 37 



company ; bat when the solemnity of night and solitude is 
there, it is indeed impressive. It was a bitter, cold, and 
stormy night; the rain, in heavy torrents, beat furiously on 
the skylight over him, and the piercing wind, as it shook the 
windows in their frames, insinuated its cold breath into the 
room. Around, on several oaken tables, lay the sad vestiges 
of mortality, in their various stages of decomposition — some 
mutilated, others undisturbed; their leaden features glared 
unmeaningly in death, and the heavy limbs dangling like logs 
by the sides of the table. There — alone in such a place — let 
the pride of the purse-proud idiot nauseate, the conceited 
shudder, and the monarch learn his lesson. There is no 
school like this for humbling nature : no rich sarcophagus 
emblazoning the virtues of the dead — no costly gravestone ; 
but all in the loathsome garb of nakedness — in the noisome 
hues of putrefaction — in the mass of black corruption ! What 
is man ? The flickering lamp shed but a very feeble light — 
making all around more hideous ; the floor was strewn with 
sawdust, for the absorption of damp and moisture incident to 
such places ; and shoals of stealthy rats crawled from their 
lurking-place for plunder. Though Mr. Plumtree was un- 
doubtedly a man of undisputed courage, he had never before 
been left alone in a dissecting-room at night, nor had the 
circumstance ever previously occurred to him ; as it was, 
unconsciously almost he looked around, and shuddered. 
" Pshaw !" said he ; and, encasing his head in a woollen cap, 
and turning up his sleeves, he proceeded to arrange the corpse 
in a suitable position for his purpose. Fastening the arms 
and hands around the neck by means of an old piece of cord, 
and elevating the abdomen by placing a block behind the 
loins, he sat down by the side of the subject, and buried his 
feet in a heap of sawdust underneath the table to keep them 
warm. Thus the necessary preliminaries finished, he selected 
one of his sharpest knives, and was about making his first 
incision, when a gigantic rat leaped upon the table, crossed 
the face of the dead man, and extinguished his light. All 
was instant darkness. Mr. Plumtree changed countenance 
(most likely !) for a moment : groping upon the floor to 
regain his light, his hands came in contact with the clammy 



38 MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



foot of the corpse ; he slightly shuddered, but, laughing 
instantly at the folly of his own weakness, continued the 
search ; it was soon accomplished, and, igniting a Lucifer, 
he re-lit his lamp, rallied his courage, and again prepared for 
study. For a moment he looked unconsciously upon the face 
of the corpse : one eye was opened, although he could have 
sworn that but a moment before they were both closed. 
" Strange !" muttered he to himself; " but — pshaw !" And he 
endeavoured to forget the circumstance ; yet many strange 
traditions and superstitions crowded on him. He rose from 
his stool, and walked towards the door to procure a little 
brandy which he had secreted for himself in a small closet in 
the lobby ; but it was locked outside, and, under any circum- 
stances, he could not possibly leave the room. Stranger still ! 
thought he ; but — pshaw ! And, with a vigorous and manly 
effort, he determined to persevere in his research. Armed 
with this laudable determination, he again sat down. After 
examining the blade of his scalpel, he commenced his first 
incision by dividing the integuments from the neck down- 
wards, and, reflecting back the fascia underneath them, the 
beautiful layers of abdominal muscles, with their glistening 
tendons, were exposed to view. One by one their fibres were 
dissevered, and in like manner thrown back, when the nume- 
rous viscera and sublime works of the Creator lay like hea- 
venly machinery before him. 

" Beautiful !" ejaculated Mr. Plumtree. u From this clay 
shall come the resurrection of the secret which shall render it 
immortal !" 

However bright might have burnt this spark of enthusiasm 
in Mr. Plumtree, it was evident that the lamp by no means 
shared the sentiment, for, with a few equivocal flickers, it 
began to wane very low, yet gradually. This was a bad omen, 
and he felt it to be so ; but, drawing it closer to him, he pur- 
sued his labours. From the numerous organs before him, he 
selected the stomach for the first field of his research, and 
clasping it in his left hand, and drawing the scalpel over it 
with the other, the interior, with its rosy tints, lay spread 
before him. 

" Beautiful !" again cried Mr. Plumtree ; and the lamp at 



MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



the same time flickered and burnt lower. He raised his eyes 
to look at it, and at the same moment thought his knife felt 
to grate harshly against some anomalous substance in the 
stomach. 

" Ah !" thought he, " I have it now !" And, bending his 
head iow, by the aid of his uncertain light he discovered, to 
his unutterable astonishment, a letter, directed to himself, 
and emitting a ghastly light nnd sulphurous odour. A sudden 
sensation of faintness and cold came over him, and he trem- 
bled from head to foot. Again his eyes were fixed on it, and 
shining letters showed the post-mark — u Pandemonium.' ' 
With a last faint effort, he ventured to unloose the seal, and 
whilst consciousness still lingered in his brain he read the 
following : — 

My dear Sir — Permit ma to tender you my most grateful acknow- 
ledgments for having opened my body, for 1 have not seen daylight for 
three weeks before; and I now enjoy the sensation of being cool and 
comfortable. You cannot imagine the delight I felt as your delicate 
blade divided my flesh, insomuch that I could not forbear opening one 
eye to look at you. I am told that you are searching for the essence of 
life : just look behind my liver, and you will find a pint bottle of it. I 
prefer it myself to the India Pale Ale. Please to make me decent by 
four o'clock, as a demon is coming to sup with me. — Yours, &c, in life, 
death, and eternity, The Corpse. 

P.S. — Be careful how you put me together again, as I am rather 
ticklish, and do not wish to disturb the gravity of my position by 
laughing. 

The letter fell from his hands — the lamp again flickered, 
and went out ; and he fell backwards against the table. In 
doing so, the cotton cord which bound the arm round the head 
of the corpse gave way, and it fell heavily upon his shoulder, 
round his neck, so as to embrace him. Sense and conscious- 
ness forsook him, and he became inanimate — utterly unable 
either to think, speak, or move. How long he would have 
continued in this condition is uncertain, had not daylight 
come ; and when the several students returned to their usual 
occupations, he was discovered in the same position he had 
lain all night. 

The mystery is easily solved. The fact was, that, hearing 
of his foolish intentions, the wag with the cigar in his mouth, 
and three or four other congenial spirits, wrote the letter, 



40 MEMORIALS OF MEDICALS. 



rubbed it well with phosphorus, and forced it with a probang 
down the oesophagus into the stomach ; whilst the eye was 
opened by the legs of the rat which ran across the face of 
the dead man. 

Mr. Plumtree was removed, and, by proper applications 
and restoratives, was shortly convalescent. But it had its 
lesson. He became an altered and a better man; he was 
cured of infidelity ; having learned that there is a barrier 
betwixt the wisdom of God and man which no stretch of 
ingenuitv can sever. 



THE LADIES' CLUB 



OK, 



FROLICS OF THE FAIRIES. 



THE SONG OF THE PILLAR. 



Oh, list to the lay of a desolate pillar — 

I will not offend either humble or proud ; 
For, alas ! I'm a foundling and cannot tell whether 

I sprung from the earth or fell down from a cloud. 

I am here, by the corner, in fashion Ionic ; 

I'm fluted, and rooted, and crowned, it is true ; 
And yet I can't tell, though I look so Platonic, 

What on earth or in air I'm expected to do. 

I look with a sigh on those pillars so jolly 

That rise in good-fellowship opposite me ; 
They support the " Assembly," and laugh at the folly 

Of planting me here in the place of a tree. 

I bear with the jests and the jeers of the people; 

Some deem me a classic, and others more stolid ; 
Some think I'm a mile-stone, and others a steeple,. 

And tap me to try if I'm empty or solid. 

I grow pale with rage when a twenty-stone fellow 
Leans himself by my side, and I can't slip the sod ; 

And I try to reel backwards, as if I were mellow, 
And yet the policeman won't take me to " quod." 

I'm a wonder to look at, but just feel as wise 
As a tombstone without an inscription, 'tis true ; 

And I blush'd as a donkey-boy gaz'd in surprise 
When I could not e'en tell him which way the wind blew. 

I want a commission ! Oh, ladies ! dear ladies ! 

In vain I've appeal'd to the feelings of man ; 
But the heart of a lady of tenderness made is : — 

Oh, think of my case, and relieve, if you can ! 

Will you carve me a Venus— the type of your beauty ? 

Your own representative faithful I'll be ! 
I've the spirit of Mars, and no need of the duty 

Of singing the virtues of coffee and tea. 

For our congou so neat is, our sugar so sweet is; * 
Our rushlights e'en fit for a Catholic altar ; 

Our moulds are young suns, and our treacle a treat is ; 
And pickles and starch from the best never alter. 

Then, ladies, look over your pretty Pantheon — 

Some goddess devise, or in silence I rot; 
And I only can hope that the Catholic people 

Will blow me to shreds by a gunpowder plot. 

Like a true Grecian hero, no longer I'll dread, 
But with all my tormentors and enemies battle ; 

I'll put myself up at three farthings a-head, 
And be borne off triumphantly, won at a raffle. 

But enough for the present — I've done with my railings ; 

There's a black-looking fellow, I very much dread, 
Has quietly propp'd himself up by the palings, 

And noted down every word that I've said. 



THE LADIES' CLUB; 

OR, 

FROLICS OF THE FAIRIES. 



NIGHT FIRST. 

Can such things be ?— Axox. 
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.— Hamlet. 

It was a sweet and lovely night. Sad and disconsolate, we 
were perambulating the deserted village, seeking in solitude 
some remuneration for the cares of the day. Along the shore 
the stillness of the desert was not greater : the boats lay 
drowsily slumbering, as it were, in the soft moonlight, and 
the water afar off broke not the silence even by a ripple. 
Beautiful was the aspect, yet the charms of nature sank 
beneath the charms of sleep; and, with an almost uncon- 
scious yawn, we began to retrace our footsteps to our domi- 
ciles. Though all was so still — not even a single footstep 
rattling on the pavement — we became half sensible of a gen- 
tler movement, as of etherial beings, or the winging of those 
viewless spirits which are sometimes thought to touch upon 
our earth for purposes known only to themselves. Were we 
in a dream ? — or had the fumes of the last cfcar so bewildered 



44 THE LADIES' CLUB, 



us that our eyes seemed not to look on objects as they were? 
We could have sworn that but an hour ago the Billiard-rooms 
were in the east, the Ionic Pillar in the west, the trees of 
Upper Willow Cottage in the north, and the mansion of Mr. 
Docker in the south ; but now (strange metamorphosis !) the 
four angles seemed to have lost their sharpness, and all com- 
mingled in a circle, forming a beautiful admixture of trees 
and flowers, palisades and pillars, delightfully interspersed 
with rich exotics from the neighbouring conservatories. There 
was a genial warmth in the air, so sweet and balmy that our 
spirits rose as we inhaled it ; soft music, too, came floating 
on the atmosphere, as of angels sighing, which we ventured 
to presume might be the echo of some far-off wave ; but when 
sweet strains of many voices chaunting the following lines 
ravished our poor ears, we concluded that it could not come 
from donkeys, and gave ourselves up for lost : — 

Ye spirits of air, ye spirits of night, 

Speed to the Pillar by soft moonlight ! 

From the drawing-room drawl and the day set free, 

We're out— and, by Juno, we'll all have a spree ! 

"We'll tickle the noses of all we meet 

With beams of the moon as they walk the street ; 

And when the carouser going home shall sneeze, 

We'll dance to the music and sing to the breeze. 

Then, away with the day and its pitiful fuss ! 

A night on the lark and the Pillar for us ! 

Were we in Southport ? — were we mad ? — were questions 
which simultaneously rose in our minds. We looked anxiously 
at the moon, but it was not at full. We half feared, and, 
like Macbeth, " our eyes became the fools of all the other 
senses." We would have proceeded further for some proof of 
our identity, but our feet seemed fastened to the spot, and, 
thus enchanted, we beheld a scene the revelation of which can 
only emanate from ourselves. From unseen habitations the 
fluttering of wings became more audible, and presently, like 
doves, there alighted in the centre of the circle twelve lovely 
visions, beautiful indeed to look upon. We could not for a 
moment suppose them of our earth, so soft and silken were 
their pinions, and so elastic all their limbs; we, therefore, 
concluded it some heavenly pic-nic feast, there being such a 



THE ladies' club. 45 



quantity of legs and wings. As far as the eye could reach, 
unnumbered smaller visions thronged about, like the agents 
of the twelve superior ones, and seemed to execute their 
wishes. Our ideas reverted for a time to the " Midsummer 
Night's Dream," particularly when a being of robust appear- 
ance stood before us, resembling in every particular the human 
race, except the head, which was a donkey's— a feature hap- 
pily not peculiar to our kind ; yet about this head there 
seemed a degree of wisdom and of shrewdness unenjoyed, 
perhaps, by many men, for the ears rose and fell in indication 
of its thoughts ; and in that rise and fall the spirits seemed to 
share more anxiously than merchants even in the rise and fall 
of cotton, wheat, or guano. "\Yhat it was we knew not, but 
we think a satyr modernised — for of old they had heads armed 
with horns, and goats' feet and legs, crooked hands, rough, 
hairy bodies, and tails not much shorter than horses; but 
here it seemed reversed — the head alone differed from the 
human ; but as the fairies or nymphs were wont to consult 
those animals upon momentous subjects in ancient times, we 
thought that one upon an improved construction had been 
made for these. Though the spirits partook so little of our 
earth, we could not divest ourselves of the idea that we 
had seen them somewhere in a more corporeal shape ; we 
thought them, too, inhabitants of our village ; but such was 
the profusion of glory round them that it was impossible to 
arrive at any certainty. We, therefore, hastened with all due 
speed to the box of Mr. Csesar Lawson, to procure his ini- 
mitable telescope ; but, although the tombstones in the burial- 
yard of Lytham may be distinctly read through it from the 
Promenade, it was useless on the present occasion. Being 
now a little more familiarised to the scene, our next inquiry 
was directed to the cause for such a meeting — for certainly it 
was not foretold in Murphy's Almanack ; and we stood, like 
the Jews of old, half doubting, half believing. But what was 
our astonishment when, with a clattering noise, the demi- 
donkey shook its ears, and afterwards erected them with a 
dignity that would have graced an alderman. It had evi- 
dently been pondering some weighty business, and the erec- 
tion of its ears seemed to indicate that it had come to a 



46 THE LADIES' CLUB. 



decision, for the sweet eyes of the fairy ladies were one and all 
directed towards it ; and thus it spake : — 

" Spirits of earth and air ! you have wrong's to bear which 
call for immediate redress." [Here the donkey sneezed (it 
never brayed), on which one of the ladies nipped its nose to 
prevent the repetition, causing the animal to speak with a 
more nasal intonation ; and the indentation thus made remains 
to this day.] " Long and patiently you have borne the perse- 
cutions of the sex ! Your husbands leave you for out-door 
enjoyments ! Do they not ?" 

" They do ! — they do I" shouted the married part of the 
community, and some, we thought, shed tears. 

" Your lovers grow frigid and independent ! Do they not V* 

"Complete snow-balls and icicles!" cried the virgin por- 
tion ; and their revengeful eyes flashed like wildfire. 

u You want a representative — a champion !" continued the 
speaker, in a clear, calm, and determined tone of voice. 

" We do ! — we do !" shouted all together. 

" And who shall that mighty champion be V cried the 
demi-donkey. 

" The Pillar !" echoed all unanimously, and shouts of 
triumph rent the very air. Shoals of flowers were instantly 
showered upon it, and garlands of roses (white and red) wove 
round its circumference ; whilst the ladies, like beautiful 
gazelles, danced round it. We have seen this Pillar in many 
different phases. In the cold, wintry days, it has slightly 
oscillated to and fro, as if to lull itself into oblivion of its 
injuries ; in finer days we have fancied it heart-broken in its 
loneliness ; but now its stony aspect was changed — the foun- 
tains of its heart were opened, and it wept for joy. It would 
have made a speech, but utterance failed it ; and it stood an 
emblem of silent gratitude. Happy Pillar ! far too good for 
any earthly use, the gods have claimed thee. Would we were 
like thee ! — for " man that is born of a woman hath but a 
short time to live ;" but thou, the child of the elements, wilt 
endure for ever. In future thou wilt represent the ladies of 
our village ; and many happy meetings may they have, and 
find all their ends accomplished ! But we are wandering 
from our business. 



THE LADIES' CLUB. 47 



Alas, that such a dark cloud should cross that gay assem- 
blage ! Suddenly the Pillar gave a start, as if about to leap 
from its foundation ; a shriek at the same time escaped from 
the ladies, and they gathered round to protect it. 

" What's the matter V* roared the demi-donkey, with a 
sneeze (it never brayed). 

" There's that black-looking fellow at the palings !" cried 
the Pillar. 

The fairies fled — the scene dissolved — the donkey galloped 
off towards Coronation Walk • and we stood alone in our 
loneliness. 
******** 

Confound the cigars ! — 'how strong they were ! We had 
actually fallen asleep on our way home. 



NIGHT SECOND. 

Deeply interested in our visions of the preceding night, we 
determined, at all risks to our constitution, to smoke the same 
quantity of cigars, and quietly await the visitation of the 
fairies. With this determination, we experienced the soporific 
influence of the weed, and, tucking our heads up in a com- 
fortable corner to avoid the aggressions of draughts and 
policemen, we again beheld the circle of enchantment. It 
was lovely as ever ; and what heightened the charm was, that 
we could distinctly trace the features we have so often admired 
in sober daylight ; the same laughing eyes and pleasing coun- 
tenances, which by skilful physicians are considered more 
salubrious than physic and sea-bathing ; and it is doubtless 
from this circumstance that the fame of Southport is so far 
extended. But pardon the digression. 

At the rearing up of the demi-donkey's ears (whom we 
thought had grown more portly since we last saw him), the 
multitude of spirits gathered round the Pillar, easily reclining 
themselves on beds of roses and sweet flowers; canopying 
themselves, at the same time, with zephyr scarfs of beautiful 



48 THE LADIES' CLXJB. 



wave-like blue. We then heard their sweet voices again ; 
and we believe the following to be the burthen of the music : 

Spirits ! again the day hath flown, 

And the drones of earth to their beds have gone ; 

But here in the playful moonbeams clear 

She winks — and her satellites round appear. 

Drink deep of the nectar distill'd from the dew 

That reposes on flow'rets of exquisite hue, 

And smoke from the incense the sylph only breathes 

From the buds that are op'ning with petals and leaves. 

Thus, drinking and smoking, let night pass away, 

And we'll revel in mirth till the dawn of the day ! 

We felt rather inclined to the belief that this had a smat- 
tering of dissipation about it, for we thought of porter, pipes, 
&c. ; but the vulgar simile vanished in an instant. We then 
heard the demi-donkey sneeze (it never brayed), and imme- 
diately a thousand little cherubs winged their way around the 
spirits, bearing goblets like to chalices, which, we presume, 
contained, the Olympic drink alluded to ; they also handed 
round the stems of roses, and each fairy inserting one between 
her ruby lips, the Pillar was instantly lost in smoke, and the 
sparks became so vivid that the stoutest fire-engine would 
have shrunk back in amazement. 

A beautiful spirit, elevated somewhat higher than the rest 
on a greater profusion of flowers, and who, from the wisdom 
of her countenance, we thought must have descended from 
Minerva, arose to address the bacchanalians. She wished to 
bring before her heavenly chums the propriety of placing a 
presiding goddess on the everlasting Pillar, and waited a 
reply in order to determine what goddess it should be. 

"Venus! Venus !" warbled the enthusiastic choir, and the 
little cherubs chimed in with the response. 

A being fairer than imagination can depict immediately 
descended with a noiseless hop upon the Pillar, and our fears 
of tea chests, Chinese mandarins, and steaming tea kettles 
vanished ; whilst the chariot of glory which bore her to the 
earth vanished into clouds, and was lost. Oh, how beautiful 
was this part of our dream ! We forgot that we had aches 
and pains, and could we have been seen, no doubt we should 
have seemed convulsed in our puny efforts to fly, as if our 



THE LADIES' CLUB. 49 



poor clay inherited the snowy wings of the fairies. The cups 
again went round, fresh clouds of smoke enveloped the Pillar, 
and we thought we never saw it look more dignified and 
noble — for it had now a commission ! 

The fairy president resumed the business of the evening. 
She would be brief, and to the point. Tbey had met there to 
combine business with pleasure. The clubs of gentlemen 
were the ruin of their families ; it was their eternal cry when- 
ever they were wanted that " they were going to the club : w 
their ladies were neglected and injured ; but the club of the 
ladies should be their revenge, (Hear, hear.) They (the 
gentlemen) were always out, expecting that they (the ladies) 
should be always in ; but no— they would be out as well, and 
meet them with their own weapons. (Cheering. The demi- 
donkey sneezed (it never brayed). She thanked her stars 
that no Caudle propensities could be ascribed to her. For 
hours together she had been left to bite her nails and stamp 
her little foot in watchfulness (cries of " Shame ") ; but this 
she knew — she would bite her nails no more, but hold them 
in requisition. (Great applause.) She had not done this 
until driven to desperation ; in proof of which she would just 
particularise the conduct of her lord. True, she had pur- 
loined from his pockets whatever cash or valuables she had 
met with ; but what of that? (" Ay, what?") He had 
actually seized her workbox in a fit of inebriety, ran off with 
it, and — [here the speaker raised her eyes pathetically to the 
Pillar] — what had he done with it? 

" Hidden it !" said little fairy Bluebell. 

" Destroyed it !" cried pretty little Zephyr. 

" Sold it !" answered Dewdrop. 

" Made it a tobacco-box !" replied Gazelle. 

" No !" exclaimed the infuriated president. She could have 
borne with all these ; but, to the everlasting disgrace of his 
family, he had raffled it at the degrading rate of goblets 
circular, or, in earthly language, "glasses round !" (Groans 
and hisses, in which the donkey tried to join, but merely 
sneezed (it never brayed). It was not the value of the box 
she grieved for, but the articles which it contained. There 
were therein deposited a magic pair of tweezers, which had 



50 THE LADIES' CLUB. 



long kept at bay a pair of threatening moustaches (hear) ; a 
beautiful stiletto which she generally secreted when taking 
exercise on donkeys (hear, hear) ; a new and peculiar kind of 
needle, manufactured from the Needles at the Isle of Wight 
(hear) • a bobbin, made from the wooden leg of the Marquis 
of Anglesea (hear) ; and a lock of hair, which had the pro- 
perty of raising her husband's jealousy as occasion required 
(hear, hear) ; a piece of snowy white wax, deposited by white 
bees — the insects having belonged to a bleacher; knots of 
tape, manufactured by herself when tying her dress strings in 
a hurry ; and billet-doux incalculable. All these and more 
he had liquidated in the carousals of his club, and she knew 
not into whose hands they might have fallen — perhaps Peter 
the Bellman's. (Loud and reiterated shrieks of indignation. 
Clouds of smoke curled up in the air, and at the same time 
fresh goblets of nectar were called for.) She therefore pro- 
posed that neither the rules of propriety or sobriety should 
keep them (the ladies) at home. (Immense applause.) Their 
club was established, and they would meet each night, and 
emulate their husband's dissipation. (Loud cheering.) " JN T un- 
quam Dormio " was their motto. (Hear.) Let the houses 
look to themselves, and the children too. What if the mea- 
sles did carry off three or four ? Children were ever plentiful. 
(Cries of " Any quantity !") She need not speak of the 
increase of population ; their vile fathers would never miss 
them ; and why should they ? (Hear, hear.) She felt con- 
vinced that no good would ever be accomplished until the 
two clubs clashed together, when one or other, or both, must 
fall. (Loud and tremendous cheering.) Peace must arise 
from strife (hear, hear) -, and, with every powerful feeling of 
her heart, she pledged, in bumping goblets, the speedy realisa- 
tion of riots, rows, and dissipation. (Thundering shouts of 
joy, at which even the Pillar trembled; three successive 
sneezes escaped the donkey (it never brayed) ; and the fairies 
quaffed the nectar in a kind of maddening joy— a sentiment 
of an entirely new description.) 

Another beauteous spirit, with eyes more soft than the 
gazelle — whose very darkness shone in radiant light, yet 
playful and expressive — a being of our village whom we often 



THE LADIES' CLUE. 51 



view in our solitary rambles, yet view but to admire — rose to 
lament that if the lords of matrimony were remiss in their 
attentions, the aspirants to marriage were more so still. 
(Powerful anxiety amongst the junior part of the assemblage.) 
She would not attempt to deny that so many locks of hair 
had been presented to her that her lover wore a wig in conse- 
quence. (Cries of " What of that V) True, the caps of his 
knees were worn away with kneeling ; but what had he to do 
with caps ? (" What, indeed ?") She only wished to hold 
him in the strings. (Cheers.) She would not disguise the 
fact that he had sworn to die for her ; but he had never tried 
it — which was a glaring proof of his inconstancy. She would 
confess that the kiss was not sufficiently fervent, nor the 
embrace sufficiently impressive. (" Nothing like it !") She 
liked things to be done properly. (Hear, hear.) Like the 
bee, he sipped too much from flower to flower, when all the 
honey should be sipped from her, and wormwood from the 
others. (Cries of " Gall — actual gall !") When last they 
parted for the night, the tears he shed were only fifty ; she 
would not scruple to say a dram was more his quantity, She 
therefore proposed a change in woman's heart — the death of 
its fidelity, and the birth of its inconstancy. (Loud cheers.) 
She was proud to declare that there were queen bees as well 
as male bees ; and they too would taste of the delights which 
variety appeared to yield their lovers (loud and deafening 
cheers) ; and she solicited that every single lady should report 
the progress of this experiment at the next convention of the 
club. (Again the donkey sneezed (it never brayed), again 
the cherubs chimed melodiously, and the Pillar smiled in 
triumph, whilst the virgin speaker fell upon her bed of roses, 
exhausted with enthusiasm.) 

The third and last orator was very like Diana, her symme- 
trical figure being accoutred in a riding-habit ; one, too, whom 
it is our pride and boast to call a resident amongst us. She 
rose to be informed when the first actual scene of dissipation 
would commence, and the opening volley of rebellion be fired 
upon their adversaries. 

The excited president at once determined that the next 
meeting of the club should signalise their initiation into 



52 THE ladies' club. 



crime, and the Pillar, in the meantime, as their champion, 
represent their injuries to the world. 

" Hip ! hip ! hurrah !" from all the fairies, the cherubim, 
and demi-donkey simultaneously; and the highly-gifted lady 
sad down amid loud and continued cheering. 

The ears of the modern satyr once more rattled, when every 
lady sprang up in an ecstacy of frolic and humour, and., 
joining hands, they sung and danced round the Ionic Pillar 
to the following chorus : — 

In the flowers of the garden we were born; 
To the butterfly breed we all are sworn ; 

Rake away I 
And our noble parents, as we've heard say, 
Were wild Don Juans of capers gay. 

CHORUS. 

What tricks so jolly we all will play — 
What tricks so jolly we all will play ! 

Rake away ! 

" The Battle of the Clubs " was then drunk with three 
enthusiastic cheers. " Death or victory !" — " Rows and riots 1" 
followed, together with the pledge " To Venus !" and the 
universal reel wound up the meeting. 

A sudden silence fell upon the fairies, and we marvelled 
much at such a change, when one of them pointed to the 
heavens, and pointed to a faint streak of daylight gleaming 
in the east. The fluttering of wings became general ; the 
beautiful spirit spread her pinions, and flew from the top of 
the Pillar, all the rest following on clouds of brightness to 
their viewless homes ; whilst the donkey galloped off towards 
Coronation Walk. Our senses were wrapt in this heavenly 
spectacle, when a voice of a more substantial character 
grated on our ears. 

" Get up !" cried a policeman. 

Confound these fellows ! — how hard they hit ! 

"Ay!" said my friend. "They judge of the texture of 
our heads by their own." 



THE LADIES' CLUB. 



53 



NIGHT THIRD. 



So intense was our anxiety to watch the transactions of the 
club, after what we witnessed last week, that, fearing the 
sedative influence of cigars might not be sufficient, we thereto 
added a powerful narcotic ; the combined action of which 
lulled our senses into forgetfulness, and the earth, with its 
stale and wearied objects, faded into shadows; sleep — sweet, 
warm, and gentle — weighed upon our eyelids, and we dreamt. 
It was a glorious dream too — the most interesting we ever 
enjoyed. We rejoiced to see the fairies had been resolute, for 
in the flowery circle we beheld them in dashing, lively vest- 
ments, of almost every hue, as if they had slided down a 
rainbow to the earth, and taken up its colours. We had at 
first some little trouble to discern them clearly, for they were 
smoking like celestial chimneys (if there are such), with this 
distinction, that the smoke was white as lilies and smelled as 
sweet, and curled up in graceful volumes in beautiful relief 
to the happy, warm, and soft blue sky above them. There was 
also such a vast degree of elasticity about them that the 
ground they trod appeared to us composed of Indian rubber, 
and such a wicked wink and slyness in every eye, accompa- 
nied by a careless, off-hand kind of whistle, that, though 
we are naturally dull, we could easily perceive mischief was 
in the moon and revelry in perspective. It appeared to us 
that all the trees in the village had crowded closer together 
round the circle to view the spectacle, leaving but very small 
spaces between them ; yet in these spaces and behind the trees 
we beheld the anxious countenances of many men, indicative 
of rage and disappointment. We thought they might be 
modern fauns attendant on the demi-donkey, for they were 
crowned with branches of the pine, and when any drunken 
persons passed they stupified them with their looks alone; 
but our dream convinced us that they were only the features 
of the exasperated lords in secret watch upon the ladies. 
The demi-donkey reared up its ears and clattered them as 



54 THE ladies' club. 



usual, and the carousal instantly commenced. With the 
health of the eternal goddess on the Pillar the first round of 
goblets was quaffed, and the following chorus immediately 
followed : — 

Hurrah for the club— the Ladies' Club ! 

Away with peace and quiet ! 
"Whilst nectar fills the Olympic bowl, 

Revel, drink, and riot. 
Till heart and brain with rapture thrill, 
Deeper, deeper, deeper still ! 

Hurrah for a toast ! The grand divorce 

From husband, family, 
Severs the bond. Away, remorse ! 

Drink deep to jollity. 
Till heart and brain with rapture thrill, 
Deeper, deeper, deeper still ! 

We love no child ; we hate the hearth 

Forsaken, cold, and drear. 
Drink deep the pledge — connubial wrath, 

The mad and bitter tear. 
Till heart and brain with rapture thrill, 
Deeper, deeper, deeper still! 

Well, we could not have believed it if we had not heard it ; 
but it was so : and even in that ecstatic dream, where all was 
bright and beautiful, we thought our eyes felt moist, and in 
all this hilarity we traced many bitter feelings, for the last 
ray of love seemed to linger on their lords. Still quicker 
passed the bowl and wilder grew the revel, and every fairy 
boasted of her exploits in reckless levity. 

The lady president arose in dashing colours, and, waving 
her goblet to the goddess on the Pillar, proposed that fairy 
Bluebell should regale them with a song. 

Bluebell then arose, and suffered the following to defile her 
lips : — 

SONG. 

May the bed of the husband refuse him its rest, 
And his child never sleep in the hours of the night ; 

May his nightcap bring dreams of the poor and distress'd, 
And his pillow be Caudled from darkness to light ; 

May a bailiff sit down in his soft easy chair, 
And his servant appear in the form of a dun ; 



THE ladies' club. 55 



May the kiss that was once sweet bring only despair, 

And the bets at his club by another be won ; 
May his child never finish its cutting of teeth. 

And in cobwebs and dirt may he sit like a spider ; 
May the buttons fall off from his wristbands beneath, 

And the rents of his garment grow wider and wider ; 
May all the French polish come off from the chairs, 

And the furniture rot till he goes to the Bench. 
So drink to the bankrupt, his losses and cares, 

And death to the lady who dares to retrench. 

Loud shouts of applause followed this effusion, and so vio- 
lent were the thumps made upon the board that every goblet 
was smashed to pieces ; but this was of no consequence ; fresh 
ones, of twice the value, were called for, and the revel again 
grew wilder and wilder. 

Gazelle next arose, somewhat the worse for nectar, and, 
with two or three preliminary hiccups, avowed her intention 
of givirjg a toast. (Hear, hear.) Might the lovers of ladies 
freeze in their own coolness (hiccup), and the husbands of 
wives melt in their own passions. (Two hiccups, and loud 
shouts of applause from all the fairies, with a sneeze from the 
demi-donkey (it never brayed). With her last life-drop she 
would stand up for the club. (Here Gazelle fell down in 
most unfairy-like condition on her seat of roses, calling 
loudly for more nectar, which was handed to her by the 
cherubim, as also a pail of ginger and cowslip wine for the 
demi-donkey.) 

Order was called for, but disputed. " Rows and riots" 
was drunk in flowing bumpers, with three times three, and 
the pledge was verified in most confused disorder, until 
Zephyr rose, with a most serious face, and apologised for the 
liberty she was about to take ; but if it would not be deroga- 
tory to the dignity of the semi-animal, would the demi- 
donkey favour them with a song ? 

Loud and long-continued shouts and thumps of applause 
supported the startling proposition, and though the modern 
satyr seldom did anything but sneeze, on this particular 
occasion it was seen to erect its ears and relieve itself in the 
following verses ; and, oh ! in the chronicles of Southport 
may they evermore be written : — 



56 THE LADIES' CLUB. 



SONG OF THE DEMI-DONKEY. 

I'm a jolly old donkey, as all of you see — 
The father of Albert and such like as he ; 
My schooling was good, and I lived at my ease ; 
I forgot how to bray, and did nothing but sneeze. 

Tchsha! (sneeze.) 

I was scarcely a donkey, and yet not a mule, 
And, as I became wise, was too good for a fool ; 
To trace my descent ev'ry one I could baffle ; 
And so all agreed I was won at a raffle. 

Tchsha ! 

As wiser, and wiser, and wiser I grew, 
I'd no use of four legs, so I stood upon two ; 
And when in my head human reason began, 
They changed from a jackass to those of a man. 

Tchsha ! 

But my head yet remains for the fairies to watch it ; 
It itches just now — oh ! I wish they would scratch it. 
Dear ladies, believe me, my story is true — 
I'm a thousand years old, and was made but for you. 

Tchsha ! 

My friends were all fickle, but I am more true ; 
When I've serv'd you, I've but one commission to do ; 
In short, I'm His Highness— a mischief distiller, 
And have just come to earth to fly back with the Pillar. 

Tchsha ! 

The shrillness of the applause which followed this song 
would have drowned a combination of a thousand railway 
whistles ; the fairies not only quaffed their nectar, but threw 
their goblets up in the air, but fortunately they were caught 
by the cherubs who winged above them, who, again reple- 
nishing the same, returned them to the reeling bacchanalians. 
The demi-donkey sneezed violently, and the fairies thronged 
around it to support its sides, which exhibited strong symp- 
toms of rupturing ; it then settled and sat down upon a wine 
cask. 

Snowdrop next leaped upon the table, and offered a wager 
that she had done the noblest deed of any since their last 
convention. Her lord (poor dolt !) had the actual effrontery 



THE LADIES' CLUB. 



57 



to take her monkey-coat, declaring he would keep her from 
the club; but she was proud to say that she turned upon 
the ape and vindicated the honour of the association. She 
seized a document from his desk which in two days more 
would have made him lord of an estate, and burnt it to his 
very face. (Thunders of applause.) She need not remind 
them that where there was a will there was a way ; and he 
was now a ruined man. (Symptoms of pity shown by the 
fairies.) The poor father (it was a capital joke ! — very capital, 
indeed!) had gone mad and distracted. (Ah, Snowdrop, we 
saw a tear in your eye.) But what cared she ? — she was 
neglected. Oh, how she once loved him ! (Snowdrop,, you 
were melting.) But now he was nothing to her — nothing! 
(Serious countenances, accompanied by sighs.) The bright 
dream of happiness was past, and now she hated him. (Tears.) 
Oh, what is life ! (said Snowdrop, growing sentimental,) 
when the love of woman, fostered in the affections of the 
angels, is degraded by the sinfulness and base practices of 
man ! (Although the resemblance of levity was simulated by 
the fairies, we still beheld some agonising tears trickle down 
their cheeks.) Oh ! for a gleam (continued Snowdrop) of 
that happy time when in the future all was dreamlike and full 
of brightness ! (Poor Snowdrop.) Oh ! could that gem 
which she had sought from all earth's jewellery forsake her 
now ! (The fairies wept ; their injuries seemed to madden 
them.) Did not all of them whose hearts once thrilled in 
rapture to the idol praise it even yet ? (Showers of tears.) 
But, alas, the curse ! With love still burning in their hearts, 
their souls had frozen ; ay, even in their very breasts the 
milk of kindness had become dried up. (Poor Snowdrop ! 
She sat down weeping, and though the show of hilarity had 
been so great, a tear from the goddess of the Pillar blessed 
the wretched earth beneath her, and the fountains of that 
deep affection nurtured in the heart of woman gushed forth 
in bitter, yet relieving streams. In our dream we thought 
our manliness passed from us, and we wept ; for, though we 
are careless and thoughtless, we have hearts of feeling.) 

Zephyr arose, with dewy eyes, and fondly spoke of one 
whom she had now discarded. She hated sentiment (and so 



58 THE ladies' club. 



do we) ; but we could not banish the remembrance of him 
she had vilified. (Here she drew from her breast a lock of 
hair, and kissed it. Sweet little Zephyr!) With all his 
faults and instability, the heart round which her own was 
woven could not be unentwined. The imperfections of the 
man should be compensated by the constancy of the woman. 
(Showers of happy tears.) She loved him still, and should 
do so. 

The demi-donkey sneezed (it never brayed), and, with a 
strenuous effort, tried to call them back again to vice ; but 
no ! — poor Zephyr still shed tears ; and in the whirl of dissipa- 
tion, lingering love, and threatening madness, the fairies 
seemed to us to love their reason. Suddenly a mighty rush 
of a legion of exasperated spirits from behind the trees 
boomed upon our ears, and the next moment we beheld in • 
our dream the lords and lover3 of the ladies kneeling at their 
feet. Oh, woman ! how the righteous tears which, like the 
crystal drops from fonts of holiness, had flowed from those 
neglected orbs, brought back the sense of duty and of love 
into the hearts of men ! We saw them kneeling at their feet, 
and praying with fervency for the return of that inestimable 
pearl which they had thrown away ; but no ! — the goddess of 
the Pillar descended on the earth, and, spreading her pro- 
tecting pinions, forbade the approach to those virtues they 
desecrated and abandoned — deeply injured, tormented, and 
neglected; those virtues still survived, and it was not without 
the tears of penitence in man that they could ever be restored. 
The fairies wept. Forgive the weakness of our sex, but the 
suppliants wept as well ; the knowledge of their mutual value 
was discovered ; and whilst tears hot and burning gushed 
upon the earth, the goddess dropped her wings and suffered 
them to meet. Oh, how sweet was the embrace ! Thoughts 
bright and sweet of bygone days came back, and all the cold, 
harsh, bitter feelings which had taken root in anger sprung 
up, like a tree of heaven, into rapturous love and gladness. 
The goddess of the Pillar wept, but, wiping from her eyes 
the tears of sadness, flew back upon her throne, and seeing 
locked in happiest embrace both husband and wife, the loved 
one and the lover, she spread her pinions and winged her 



THE ladies' club. 59 



flight into eternal glory, whilst the donkey galloped off 
towards Coronation Walk (may it stop there) ; and we 
awoke. 

It was positively past breakfast-time ; the wife, linked in 
the arm of the husband, was gaily smiling past us for the 
Promenade, and young and happy couples were chattering of 
wedlock ; nurses were walking smiling children to the shore ; 
and all was cheerfulness and bustle. 

"We slunk away home and washed ourselves, feeling then 
refreshed, yet sorrowful ; for, though we participated in the 
successful issue of the Ladies' Club, we knew that, like injured 
spirits, they were reconciled, and we should no more see 
them ; and to them, as well as to the readers of this narra- 
tive, we bid farewell. 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE 



A VILLAGE TALE. 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 

A VILLAGE TALE. 



CHAPTER THE FIRST. 

Alas ! how light a cause will move 
Dissension between hearts that love — 
Hearts that the world in vain had tried, 
And sorrow but more closely tied — 
That stood the storm when waves were rough, 
Yet in a sunny hour fall off; 
Like ships that have gone down at sea 
When heaven was all tranquillity. 
* * * * * * 

A word is ringing through my brain ; 

It was not meant to give me pain ; 

It was when first the sound I heard 

A lightly-utter'd, careless word. 

Oh ! would to God I ne'er had heard 

That lightly-utter'd, careless word.— Moore. 

Is there anything more delightful than the contemplation of 
a pretty village at the close of a summer's day ? The sun 
was just setting in a flood of glory, casting his crimson shades 
o'er hill and dale, whilst the slanting beams still lingered on 
the church and cottages of a beautiful hamlet near the sea. 
The labour of the day was done, and a sweet serenity, as of 
contentment, spread its holiness around ; whilst the shadowy 



64 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



trees, in richest verdure, appeared to whisper hymns of wor- 
ship as they undulated in the breeze. The harmless gossip of 
the village had commenced ; the blacksmith's hammer was no 
more heard upon the anvil ; and the labourer, as he crossed 
the stile with scythe in hand, appeared anxious to be rid of 
it, to join the group. Little happy, ruddy-looking children 
crept to the feet of their mothers, and playfully gambolled on 
the green lawn, caressing their favourite dog or pet lamb ; 
and you could not fancy, in your happiest mood, a scene 
more chaste than what we have attempted to describe. There 
were, indeed, many pretty dwellings in the village, but the 
neatest and most tasteful was the one signalised by the name 
of Mushroom Cottage. It was so called from its resemblance 
to the plant. Its circular walls or footstalk were cleanly 
whitewashed, whilst the broad thatched cap or crown extended 
its sheltering eaves far beyond the site of its foundation. 
Around it grew the rose, the woodbine, the eglantine, and 
jessamine, beautifully interwoven with sweetest wallflowers j 
and when the sun shone on it it looked like a sheltering 
asylum, where the weary and heavy-laden might be at rest. 
Outside the garden, through a little wicket gate, you passed 
upon a closely -shaven lawn ; and in the smiling hedges which 
" marked the boundaries of the dwellers were heard the merry 
songs of birds, as, unmolested, they hopped about from 
branch to branch and from tree to tree. Upon this green, 
beneath a spreading ash, was fixed a rustic table, on which, 
was placed a large brown jug of earthenware, on the outside 
of which was graven a picture of Van Amburgh with his 
lions, or Sir Walter Scott — we cannot positively say which ; 
but certain it is that in the interior at least four quarts of 
nut-brown ale were visible ; moreover, we are not mistaken 
in the quantity, when we assert that four drinking horns 
were there as well, and not only they, but four individuals, 
on four oaken chairs, were sitting around with four open 
mouths to drink it. The individuals who graced the board 
consisted of the owner of the cottage, the village parson, the 
doctor, and the lawyer, and the occupation in which they 
jointly were concerned consisted in emitting volume after 
volume of kanaster smoke into the air; the which they 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 65 



executed with a grace and attitude belonging only to practised 
individuals. The two couple entered but little into conversa- 
tion, being more intent on bestowing their applause upon a 
happy group of lads and girls, who were dancing, with mer- 
riest peals of laughter, to a spirit-stirring fiddle, around a 
decorated pole erected in the centre of the green • and as 
occasionally one or other made a false step, and measured his 
length upon the ground, the shouts of laughter quickened in 
an equal ratio with the blunder of the individual. But of 
all the girls (and there were many pretty ones) who danced 
upon the green, no one could be compared with Fanny. 
She was indeed beautiful ; for in the opening loveliness of the 
woman were still preserved the innocence and freedom of the 
child. Her face expressed no guile, for her mind knew no 
deceit : she was nature's purest sample of the righteousness of 
the Creator. Oh ! how they watched her pretty little figure, 
as, playful as the lamb, she skipped amongst the flowers, 
soiling her white stockings and little sandelled feet ; her eye, 
dark, soft, and playful, shedding its joyfulness on all ; her 
step more fleet than the gazelle, and her boddiced figure 
elegant in its simplicity. The warm glow of exercise irra- 
diated her faultless features, and her auburn ringlets, as they 
fell dishevelled on her face, shaded most appropriately the 
blush which must have otherwise been irresistible. She had 
numbered only seventeen years, but many were the hearts 
and hands which had been offered to her ; but Fanny thought 
not of them, being too happy in her present state to think of 
changing it. Of all the aspirants who knelt to her, but one 
was favoured with her smile, and that was Allan Maydew; 
and never in the chronicles of lovers can be found a heart so 
madly smitten and so nobly faithful as the one he tendered 
her. From childhood they had played together — grown up 
beneath the same roof — reposed in each other's breasts their 
joys and sorrows — laughed together — wept together, and 
seemed as if, in the creation of the two, a glorious state of 
being should be made by their blending into one. It was 
Allan, too, who, by the mutual wish and consent of father 
and mother, was destined to be the happy son-in-law; by 
Fanny he was the favoured lover, for never in her pure young 



6Q 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



heart had risen in rebellion one wish contrary to the edicts of 
her parents. Here, then, in a state of happiness, we will 
leave them romping and dancing on the green, to hear what 
the four individuals have to say who are seated round the 
board. 

The owner of the cottage was known in the village by the 
name of Hasseldon, and was, in the ordinary language of the 
world, pretty well to do. In years he was about sixty, and 
was the father of Fanny. Hale, stout, and vigorous, he 
appeared to belie by fifteen years his actual age, and, though 
some few gray hairs were visible, not a furrow ploughed his 
cheek, and it looked as ruddy as the crimson waistcoat which 
he gaily wore on this occasion. With regard to the other 
three, the parson was a tall man, the lawyer a middle-sized 
one, and the doctor short and pugnacious ; and they all three 
were attired in black, as being emblematic of their professions. 
The parson, I have also to record, was very solemn-looking, 
and his speech was made to match ; the lawyer spoke very 
quick and with extreme ferocity, and had a peculiar method 
of making every sentence tell by disarranging and re-arranging 
his words, and bringing the whole of it to bear with steam- 
like force upon the hapless wretch that came within his 
clutches ; as for the doctor, he opposed everything, whether 
right or wrong, had some few propensities to pugilism, and 
was remarkable for drawing very fine inferences ; whilst the 
parson was fairly prostrated between the contending passions 
of the two. I have said that they were smoking ; and it 
was after watching the last curl of smoke fade away into the 
air that farmer Hasseldon drew the pipe from his mouth, and 
addressed himself to his companions. 

" I have been thinking," said he, very mildly, " what will 
be the wisest plan to adopt with my last new tenant. I should 
not like to be harsh with the poor fellow— he has six children; 
but I have not received a farthing of rent for the last eighteen 
months." 

" Neck and crop case !" said the lawyer, very fiercely ; 
" crop and neck ! Turn him out — bag and baggage — baggage 
and bag. Turn him out ! — turn him out ! — turn him out !" 

" Alas !" said the parson, very meekly ; t( we are taught 
to temper justice with mercy." 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 67 



" Not at all !" said the doctor. " False creed ! — cart before 
horse ! Temper mercy with justice — that's it ; and throw in 
a handful of spite into the bargain. What's a blister to a 
porcupine? Nothing at all. The one's as prickly as the 
other. No justice in that. But make his back into a pin- 
cushion, and you have him ; otherwise it's a matter of no 
consequence, as the donkey inferred when he trod on the 
grasshopper. Augh !" 

This diversified and elegant piece of rhetoric was followed 
by a corresponding thump upon the parson's back, which so 
electrified the latter gentleman that although he was about to 
reply to his friend the doctor, he failed in the attempt, and 
substituted a violent fit of coughing, 

" You've taken him rather by surprise," said Hasseldon, 
repressing a laugh. 

" Rough and ready — ready and rough !" cried the lawyer. 
" 'Sault and battery — battery, 'sault ! At him again ! — at 
him again ! — at him again !" 

" I entreat," replied the parson, unable to refrain from 
laughing, and with tears in his eyes, " that I may be at rest." 

" Not at all !" said the doctor. " No rest for the wicked ! 
Wrong again — Irish bull ! What's sour ale to a publican ? 
Nothing at all! — he can bear it. But give him an Epsom 
draught, and he feels it, as the thumb-screw inferred from 
the cries of the culprit. Augh ! — haugh !" 

" Such immorality is " But what the parson was 

about to say I cannot determine, for the attention of the 
whole four was suddenly drawn to the merry dancers, who, 
like a revolving wheel, were spinning round the pole in wildest 
bursts of gaiety and laughter, when suddenly one of them 
released his hold, and, by sad incaution, threw a succession 
of summersets upon the green. It was Allen Maydew. Loud 
shouts of ridicule were the inevitable consequence. Poor 
Allan ! — he rose up, disconcerted with his fall ; but Fanny's 
bright and playful smile was sufficient recompense for the 
misfortune. 

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" shouted the lawyer, rising on his feet. 
u I feel so light now that I could dance. Get up !" said he 
to the parson, " and think yourself a harlequin !" 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



" The Terpsichorean art, alas ! is not my " 

" Fudge !" chimed in the doctor, seizing him by the neck 
behind, and fairly lifting him forward on his legs. " You're 
as frisky as a young colt !" 

And the poor parson was actually dragged into the circle, 
and the whole four beat time to the superannuated fiddle 
(which seemed wild with jollity) and to the accompanying 
tread of the lads and lasses. There went Fanny, all eyes 
watching her ; round, and round, and round went they -, the 
bright moon rising over their heads, and her sweet, blue light, 
silvering as with a carpet the earth beneath them. The parson 
had for some time experienced certain unwelcome symptoms 
of dizziness, yet, afraid to fall, still chimed in w T ith the fol- 
lowing chorus : — 

When the moon is high 
The ground is dry, 
But summer flowers will wither soon ; 
Then hail the chance 
Of a merry dance 
By the light of the smiling harvest moon. 
Fal lal lal la ! 
The world goes round, 
But joy's not found 
Through the palace gate or the gay saloon ; 
But here she brings 
Her choicest things, 
With the light of the smiling harvest moon. 
Fal lal lal la ! 

u Fal la la la !" sang the giddy parson, with a last sad 
effort, and the next moment measured his length upon 
the ground, with the lawyer, the doctor, the farmer, and 
heaps of lovely girls upon him. Then came the scramble : 
lads looking for their lasses, lasses looking for their lads — 
which were more speedily found than (to use an old saying) 
a needle in a bottle of straw. It was about this time, when 
just recovering from the welcome effects of the shock, that 
the tinkling of a bell was heard in the valley that lay by the 
side of the cottage, and through which wound the highway 
road ; and as the attentive party paused to listen the heavy 
rumbling of a waggon was heard approaching. 

" It's the carrier !" said one. 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



" Or a puppet-show V said another. u It's the fair next 
week." 

But the former proved to be right — it was the carrier, who, 
alighting from his vehicle, clambered up the hill- side with 
something in his hand. 

" It's a new ribbon for me !" said Annie Hawthorn. 

" Guess again !" said the carrier. 

" It's a letter !" cried Fanny. 

" Right !" said the bearer. 

" Who for ?" cried a dozen anxious voices. 

" For Annie Hawthorn," answered the carrier. 

" What news ?"— " What news ?"— " What news ?" cried 
all at once, clustering round, whilst Annie, with a flurried 
face and anxious countenance, broke the seal, and ran rapidly 
over the contents. 

" Good news — good news !" cried Annie, leaping with de- 
light, and clapping her hands. " The war is over, and poor 
Ned, my brother, who left us to roam the wide world, ha3 
been so brave, that he's now an officer on board the ship 
Britannia, and will be here next week. Oh ! I long to see 
him. He will scarcely know us, we've all grown so much." 

" Oh ! he'll not forget me," said Allan. " We were old 
playfellows together. I wish he were here to-night." 

" And I !" — " And I !" responded a dozen voices at once. 

" But come !" said the old farmer ; " the hour is late. One 
parting glass inside, doctor, and good night." 

And accordingly the four brothers entered the cottage ; 

whilst the younger and more wicked part of the community 

xchanged parting glances (it might be kisses), and hastened 

to their respective dwellings, anticipating glorious fun on the 

arrival of their expected guest. 



CHAPTER THE SECOND. 



There is no association of feelings more peculiar and inte- 
resting than that which is created by the return of scenes of 
boyhood after the lapse of many years. To every object, 



70 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



however humble — a tree, a cot, a stile — belongs a sacredness 
which we shudder to see violated; for memory speaks of 
many green and happy spots, when, perhaps, the rest of life 
is but a desert. 

It was under feelings of this description that a young man, 
attired in the naval uniform, stood contemplating at a distance 
the place of his childhood, and pondered much upon the 
many changes which had taken place since the time he left it. 
In age he might have numbered twenty years, or scarcely that, 
for the buoyant carelessness of early youth still lit up his 
expressive features, brown and darkened by the work of tropic 
climates. His face was well formed and regular — his com- 
plexion dark ; and the prepossession with which he filled the 
mind of the beholder might be attributed, in a great measure, 
to the frank and open countenance which, to look on, you 
might imagine had never felt a cloud of care sweep over it. 
His figure, too, was well formed, bearing a degree of manli- 
ness and hardihood which no doubt the frequent exposure to 
danger and vicissitude had tended to increase. This was 
Edward Hawthorn, the writer of the epistle we spoke of in 
the last chapter, who, after a five years' absence from his native 
home, a mere boy then, now crowned with laurels, and bearing 
a commission in her Majesty's service, returned a man once 
more into the bosom of his family. After surveying for a few 
minutes the beautiful picture of nature spread before him, to 
him so hallowed and endeared, he bounded with elastic step, 
accompanied with a merry whistle of some heroic tune he'd 
fought to, down the mountain side, across the stream, and, 
entering the valley, the beautiful cottage we have previously 
described, with its rich green lawn and orchards, la}' smiling 
above him ; and his heart beat quicker and quicker in pro- 
portion as he approached it. It was evening, and lovely 
weather; the warm sun was just fading behind the hills, still 
leaving his genial heat in the atmosphere ; the girls were 
dancing as before; the farmer, parson, lawyer, and doctor 
were seated beneath the same ash tree, and engaged in the 
same harmless occupation of drinking and smoking; and a 
welcome more exhilarating could not have been desired by the 
heroic youth who stood so near to hail it. 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 71 



" I wonder/* said the farmer, " what day of the week we 
may expect young Ned. I'm quite impatient till he comes. 
I always respected that lad as if he were my own son." 

" Thunder-and-lightning fellow !" said the lawyer ; " the 
boy to fight ! A gem of the nation ! — the nation's gem ! 
Blaze away! — blaze away ! — blaze away !" 

" Alas !" said the parson ; " better it were that peace should 
dwell among all nations." 

u Not at all — peace won't do with nations," replied the 
doctor. " Blunder again ! Peace begets idleness — idleness, 
ruin. What's a shaft to a rocket ? Nothing at all. But 

give it a light, and it's up, as the pelican said But, 

whew ! — what new-fangled stripling is this ascending the hill 
side with his gold lace cap and glittering buttons ? Why, by 
iEsculapius, it's Ned himself !" 

And so it proved ; for in another moment he stood before 
them, and was speedily locked in the arms of his sister Annie 
Hawthorn, who scarcely credited her eyes as she looked at 
him. The farmer, doctor, lawyer, and parson leaped from 
their seats to welcome him, and crowds of joyful girls and 
lads swarmed about to greet him. This was indeed a happy 
sight — the sunny calm succeeding to the storm of darkness. 

"Why, how you're changed!" said Annie, relaxing her 
embrace. You're quite a man now ! I should scarcely have 
known you !" 

" And so good-looking, too !" said Fanny. (Poor Fanny 1 — 
she was the thing of impulse and of truth : she spoke inno- 
cently.) Why, Allan, he's grown more than you, and you 
were so much taller when he left us." 

" And browner too," said Allan. " But he's outstripped 
me in that respect as well." 

" I have indeed," answered Edward. " Toil and climate 
has done its work upon me ; but noio I am happy, once more 
in the bosom of friends and relations." 

" Oh, but do tell us all your adventures," said a dozen 
pretty girls ; " what you've been doing, and how you have 
fought." 

" And conquered too !" said Fanny, as she leaned on Allan's 
arm. 



72 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



" Not to-night — not to-night," replied Edward. " To-mor- 
row, when we are more settled. I have indeed much to tell 
you, but " 

" He's wearied with travelling," said the parson. 

" Not he ! — fresh as a lark !" answered the doctor. " Wrong 
again !" 

" Oh yes ! I feel so happy I could take part in a dance," 
cried Edward, executing a sea-step on the green. 

" Touch-and-go case !" said the lawyer. " Strike up the 
fiddle ! — the fiddle strike up ! Lead away ! — lead away ! — lead 
away !" 

And Edward, singling out one of the prettiest girls in the 
group, led off the dance, with the parson, the doctor, and the 
lawyer at his heels. Blithely rung the notes of the fiddle, 
and happily beat the hearts of the company, as in graceful 
attitude they footed it across to each other, and sallied off 
with a spirit-stirring gallop down the middle — returning to 
the top again, and waltzing round, displaying their agility to 
the succeeding partner. Allan seemed delighted with the 
pastime, and Fanny danced with a grace and beauty seldom 
seen before; whilst Edward was abundantly favoured with 
the smiles of his fair partner, and the happy gaze and admi- 
ration of the rest. The doctor, the lawyer, and the parson ran 
foul of each other so often — and not without some damage — 
that the parson, who was the weaker vessel, frequently went 
to the wall, and slipped in again in any way he found the 
most expedient. Now, Edward, although not naturally vain 
or conceited, could not, with all his fortitude, withstand being 
flattered by the many sweet and sometimes stolen glances cast 
upon him ; yet such was the modesty of his nature, that the 
question naturally arose in his mind, whether or not it might 
be the glittering buttons on his well-fitting uniform, and not 
virtually himself that attracted the attention. Whether it was 
or not, such sober calculations were soon lost in the whirl and 
festivity of the dance. It is a natural consequence agreed on 
by philosophers that any thing or person falling from the top 
will sooner or later reach the bottom ; and so it was witfi 
Edward and his partner, who were now resting, the last couple, 
at the bottom of the green, and for the first time he had now 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 73 



an opportunity of coolly looking round him. He watched 
the beautiful figure?, with many twinkling feet, tread gaily 
through the mazes of the dance, at times obscuring each other; 
yet when, in some vacant space, the form of Fanny flitted by, 
it was as welcome to his eye — ay, more so — than the first 
bright star that glistens in heaven after storm and darkness 
to the mariner. At every glance of her it was like a shock of 
rapturous electricity thrilling through his soul, and the feeling 
with which he regarded Allan Maydew was purely one of 
envy. The frank and open sailor in his heart imagined, as he 
watched her lover lead her through the dance, that though he 
had returned to home again as to a peaceful haven, he had 
run upon a rock which would make shipwreck of his happiness 
for ever. And Fanny was indeed one that few could banish 
from remembrance ; but yet she knew not this. Her beauty 
and her mind were alike unsophisticated, and when we speak 
of her loving Allan Maydew we must remember, as we before 
said, that she had been taught to do so ; but, alas ! she had 
not yet got the lesson off by heart. The love of Allan would 
have trebled that of hers — ay, more than that; but still in 
her guileless bosom dwelt the obedient feeling, that if any 
being upon earth claimed more of her affection than another, 
that man was Allan Maydew. For the first time in the even- 
ing, a shade of sadness mingled with the happiness of Edward 
Hawthorn. The vivacity with which he started slightly 
slackened, and, with all his resolution and resource, he could 
not rally it. How gladly would he have given all his laurels 
to adorn the brow of Allan Maydew, could he have but 
exchanged them for the happy fortune of the farmer. He felt 
a coldness at the heart which had long been a stranger to 
him. 

" Now, Ned, make ready ! — make ready now, Ned !" 
shouted the fantastic lawyer, with his arm round the waist of 
his fair partner. " Right, left ! — left, right ! By Jove, we're 
coming ! — we're coming, by Jove ! Look about ! — look about ! 
—look about !" 

"Yea, verily, we approach," said the parson, following 
after. 

"Detestable hypocrisy!" cried the doctor. "We don't 



74 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



approach ! — milk-and-water speech ! — we drive along ! Get 
out of the way, Jeremiah ! Augh ! — hangh ! Now, Ned, 
my hero, strike to the tune !" 

And Ned, thus admonished, looked around and rallied up 
his cheerfulness. But what called back again the rapture to 
his soul ? — from what electric source shot out that fire which 
again lit up his eye and cheek ? It was from Fanny ; for as 
he raised his head from moody contemplation at the sonorous 
voices of the doctor, lawyer, and parson, he beheld her eyes 
fixed on him with a sweetness — yea, a tenderness — shall we 
say a fondness — that never, through the vista of departed 
years, Allan Maydew had experienced. Great God ! how 
one little moment, in which is cradled that fixed affection of 
the soul — that love which saints make glory of in heaven, 
when known (no matter how) to heart and heart — can change, 
as if by a magician's wand, all scenes and prospects we had 
dreamt of in the future. He suffered not his eye to stray one 
glance from hers (for in that glance w r as written all that he 
desired on earth), until the blush of modesty — that chaste 
reproof which angels glory at — pressed softly down her eye- 
lids ; and 'twas gone. Merrily went the dance, and higher 
and higher rose the spirits of Ned, until all were charmed 
with his hilarity. The character of the dance brought him 
nearer and nearer to the side of Fanny, and when, in confor- 
mity with the figure, he took her from the side of Allan to 
escort her down the middle, there was a something in the 
guileless pressure of the hand which I will leave the reader 
to imagine. It was a case : it's very laughable too. Poor 
Fanny ! — she was in love, and positively did not know it. It 
w r as a feeling as novel to her heart as the sight of this bright 
world to one whose eyes had never seen it — happy, joyful, 
and enrapturing. Her eye beamed more brightly and her 
step grew more elastic, and, what was more, these pleasurable 
sensations were multiplied by the increased attention of 
Edward Hawthorn. The dance came to a close (for nature 
will occasionally give hints of weariness at the best of times), 
and each cavalier, with his partner on his arm, retired to 
recreate upon the sylvan seats, o'er-canopied by graceful trees 
and bordered round with sweetest flowers. Allan Maydew, 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 75 



with the eagerness and quickness of an eagle, held his arm to 
Fanny; and as she looked towards Edward as he escorted his 
partner to a seat, had Allan been the most obtuse observer 
upon earth (which he was not), he must have been alive to 
the conviction that he had known the time when his arm had 
been more earnestly accepted. And still within her sinless 
breast she felt a joy when Edward, having seen his partner 
seated, as politeness indicated, shaped his course to the 
doctor, the lawyer, and the parson, who were laughing most 
immoderately together. 

" I'll tell you what, my boy," said old Hasseldon, as he 
approached them ; " those golden buttons of yours dazale all 
the girls ; may the harvest be a bad one, if they can keep 
their eyes off them." 

" Ned's a Nelson !" said the lawyer ; " a Nelson is Ned ! 
Metal outside and mettle within ! A gun's own son — the 
son of a gun ! Jig away ! — -jig away ! — jig away !" 

" Yea, verily, he danceth well," said the parson. 

" Who disputed it?" demanded the doctor, turning sharply 
round. u Do you wish to quarrel ? You don't know what 
happiness is without you're eternally fighting and scratching." 

The parson at this moment happened to be looking more 
placid than the most innocent lamb, and the pugnacity of 
the doctor's countenance forming such a powerful contrast, 
the laugh became irresistable. 

" By the gods of war," said Edward, looking upwards, to 
conceal his laughter, " T have never beheld, even at sea, the 
moon shine so brightly as it does to-night. A more cloudless 
sky was never seen in Italy." 

" Then hurrah for the dance once more, and the last 
to-night !" said Hasseldon. " See, Ned, the girls are getting 
impatient — all fidgetting to feel their feet again ; so now for 
the fiddle. Why, where's Allan got to? He's always the 
first with the girls." 

The result of this speech was that Edward immediately cast 
his eyes to the spot where Fanny was sitting, with a cluster 
of merry girls laughing round her, and, taking advantage of 
the absence of Allan, he insinuated himself into the midst of 
them, and solicited the favour of her hand. With the frank- 



76 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



ness of an angel, and with, as much sincerity, she accepted 
it, and the fiddle grew wild again and the dance more exhila- 
rating than ever. 

" How happy I am," said Fanny, " to see you home again, 
after so many dangers." 

" I would have braved a hundred battles," said Edward, 
with enthusiasm, " to have made you but for once my partner 
in the dance." 

Poor Fanny ! Allan had never said anything so grand as 
this. She felt a blush suffuse her cheek, and tried to conquer 
it ; but virtue was not to be cheated of her noblest feature, 
and she blushed deeply. 

" How happy all your friends will be," continued she, very 
gaily, and laughing with all the openness of a happy heart, 
" that you've done with the sea, and have now come to dwell 
amongst them !" 

Her partner looked into her joyous face, and the joy re- 
flected from it upon his own almost restrained him from 
replying that two months was the utmost extent of his visit. 

" Indeed !" said Fanny. " I thought the war was over." 

" True," replied Edward ; " but the service of the queen 
is never idle." 

It must have been delightful indeed for Edward Hawthorn 
(who, to tell the truth, was over head and ears, &c.) to have 
seen the shade of sorrow which for a while eclipsed her radiant 
features. 

" But wherever is Allan ?" said she, turning round to look. 

Edward cast his eyes carelessly about, and, though others 
saw him not, discovered in the shade of clustering trees a 
little distant, half-concealed by the trunk of an aged oak, the 
form of Allan Maydew, with his eye unerringly fixed on him. 
There was evil in that glance. Love, true in its character, 
admits no trifling. Yet there, in that sequestered place, with 
the iron entering his soul — with all the gall of jealousy 
defiling the bright blood of life — with a brain peopled as with 
forms of hell — he had rather have fallen dead beneath the 
torment than have betrayed to Fanny one pang of his emotion. 
Here, again, is the nobility of nature. 

Still onward went the dance and wilder grew the revel, and 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 77 



Allan, with a careless, happy-looking countenance, mixed up 
again with all. Night stole softly and gradually on, until 
time, with its usual lack of ceremony, admonished them to 
part. Edward entered the dwelling of Easseldon in company 
with the three professional gentlemen, and Allan Maydew 
conducted Fanny and offered her a chair beside him. The 
joke went round; the doctor grew more facetious, the parson 
more solemn, and the lawyer more ferocious ; whilst Edward 
related his adventures by sea and land with such an off-hand, 
matter-of-course delivery, that he charmed the hearts of the 
girls. The countenance of Fanny lit up with interest as she 
listened to the eloquent recital of their guest, and when he 
had just concluded the last story she exclaimed — 

" And, after all, how fortunate you are to have returned to 
us again at the very time the i Treat of the Lord of the 
Manor ' will be celebrated !" 

But what was meant by the " Treat of the Lord of the 
Manor," we will narrate in our next chapter. 



CHAPTER THE THIRD. 

In our last chapter we proposed to submit to the reader an 
explanation of what we meant by the u Treat of the Lord of 
the Manor." It was an annual species of festivity given by 
the above gentleman in commemoration of the day when he 
recovered his sense of hearing, having previously been deaf 
for ten years. Now this was certainly a singular event to 
celebrate, but the gentleman, as gentlemen in his capacity 
frequently are, was extremely eccentric, if not a shade beyond 
it. Having once had the misfortune to experience the disad- 
vantages of total deafness, a rational individual would have 
supposed he would have studied to preserve that necessary 
sense when once regained; but this was not the case; for, 
being deprived of it so long, the loudest and most detonating 
sounds were quite inadequate to his desires; he seemed 



78 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



anxious to compensate by the most terrific noises the loss of 
all the milder ones he had sustained for ten years previous. 
He would travel miles to see a review, and had been known 
to watch a tottering building for ten days together, eagerly 
anticipating the crash. Cannons were planted almost as thick 
as trees about his mansion, and kept pretty well in exercise ; 
the consequence of which was that any family which could 
possibly avoid it declined to live within three miles of him. 
In music he was equally as great a thunderer, and amused 
himself by offering large premiums to the man who could 
inflate and crimson his face the most with blowing. But 
the great climax of his glory was a thunder-storm ; and he 
anxiously watched the heavens on the day of his uproarious 
festival. On this day it was his custom to invite the peasantry 
of all villages within a circle of three miles to the enjoyment of 
various rural sports of a thundering, loud, and detonating 
character, and the gentry and more opulent to the luxuries of 
his own table. It was his custom to illuminate his very ex- 
tensive grounds and gardens in the most variegated manner 
possible, and, in fact, to make it an annual memorial of his 
love of grandeur. Though very eccentric, as we have said, he 
was a man of unbounded liberality — was fond of fun — had a 
good heart — hated pride and conceit (as much as we do), and 
was in all respects — a gentleman. Having thus, in some mea- 
sure, prefaced our chapter with his character, we will now 
resume the thread of our discourse. 

The sun rose bright and promising on this memorable day, 
which was indeed anxiously anticipated by the villagers for 
miles round. The highway roads appeared literally thronged 
with people, and manifestations of the greatest jollity and 
lightness of heart were everywhere to be seen. The poor 
theatrical in rusty black, with his puny wardrobe on his 
shoulder, was toiling onwards \ the puppet-show, with tempt- 
ing pictures, slowly jogged along, surrounded by happy groups 
of children, who watched it with a kind of solemn curiosity. 
The usual embellishments of a fair, exemplified in the shape 
of nuts, cakes, oranges, and ginger-beer, were locomoted on 
decorated carts; merry laughs and shouts rang jollily amongst 
the green lanes and hedges, and nature appeared so bright 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



and happy humoured, you might have imagined her to be 
laughing more than all the people put together. Now, there 
never had been known a year to pass over in the annals of the 
u Treat of the Lord of the Manor " without that respectable 
and venerated individual sending down his own carriage to 
the house of Hasseldon, for the purpose of conveying him, 
with the doctor, the lawyer, and the parson, to his mansion 
— those gentlemen being his most esteemed and very particular 
friends. For Fanny he entertained the most marked affection ; 
and greater kindness to her could not have been shown, 
save from the breast of her own father. No excuse could ever 
emancipate her from the visit on this day ; and it is no mat- 
ter of astonishment that when so brave and illustrious a 
visiter as Edward Hawthorn was in the village the invitation 
should be particularly extended to him, and the connecting 
part of the community. Thus, with spirits excited to the 
utmost, and fingers and resolutions bent on mischief, the 
whole party, in gay attire, clustered round the gate of the 
cottage, anxiously awaiting the approach of the carriage to 
convey them. And a pleasing sight it was. There was 
Fanny all in white, gay, fluttering, and serial as a fairy — her 
eye beaming with sensibility, and her cheek radiant with 
happiness; there was Annie Hawthorn, all in pink, light as a 

zephyr, and wicked as ; there was Allan Maydew, 

gaily attired, with flowers in his coat, and fragrant as a hot- 
house ; there was Ned, in naval uniform, gold lace cap, and 
glittering buttons ; there was the parson, the doctor, and the 
lawyer, all in black, except the vest, which was white on this 
occasion ; there was Hasseldon, like a locomotive rainbow. 
The church bells were gaily ringing, one, two, three, and four ; 
the birds whistled, as in concert -, music of all descriptions 
thronged the highway roads ; pedestrians and miscellaneous 
vehicles were in progression ; and it seemed that if in life at 
least one day should bring no care — that day had come to 
bless them. 

" So you're to be married in six months, Fanny," said the 
doctor, giving her a kiss (this is always permitted to medical 
men). " What a lovely bride you'll make ! Allan, you're a 
happy fellow — I congratulate you." 



80 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



Allan looked with a face of delight into that of Fanny, 
and saw — what? — a deep blush. And Edward drew a long 
breath, vulgarly called a sigh. 

" Happy, indeed," said Allan. " Let fate look black as 
night, at least one favouring beacon will befriend me." 

" And if from God," said Edward, almost to himself, " those 
glorious spirits who guard us when in danger may look down 
on earth, may their blessed watch be on you !" 

He raised his head towards Fanny, and, as she leaned on 
Allan's arm, a paleness came upon her cheek, and she trem- 
bled violently. 

"Well done, Ned/' said the lawyer. " Brave and noble — 
noble and brave ! An oaken heart — a heart of oak ! Go on 
like that — like that go on ! If I'd a girl I'd give her to you 
— to you I'd give her if I had a girl ! I would by Jove — by 
Jove I would ! Laugh away ! — laugh away ! — laugh away !" 

This was certainly very elegant, and appeared to amuse the 
company ; and, in the midst of the hilarity, the kind-hearted 
pastor breathed a prayer for their happiness. Whilst all were 
thus merrily laughing at the gate, the notes of a guitar were 
heard distinctly in sweet yet mournful strains upon the sloping 
green which led to the gate of the cottage, accompanied by a 
manly voice of peculiar sweetness, and in another moment 
the minstrel stood before them. He wore the tattered garb of 
a mendicant, and his feet were covered with dirt and dust by 
long travelling. Large drops of perspiration were on his 
brow, occasioned by fatigue, and, perhaps, by the enervation 
which accompanies the pangs of hunger. His complexion 
was black as night ; his features swarthy and sallow ; his long 
black uncombed hair hung down upon his shoulders; and, 
though humble to look at, there was a haughtiness in the large, 
dark, rolling eye, which seemed very much at variance with 
his dilapidated condition. It was easy to perceive at a single 
glance that he was a gipsy. He fixed his gaze one moment 
upon Allan, languidly passed his fingers over the chords of 
the guitar, and as he took the coin offered him a sneer curled 
his lip, and he spurned it haughtily from him to the ground. 

" Your charity may one day serve you," said he. " I do 
not play for hire." 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 81 



" You read the stars ?" said Edward. " Can you tell a 
fortune V 

" No I" answered he, contemptuously. " I read no stars; 
I read no book ; but I can read the heart, and from the heart 
infer the fiat of the future." 

" Tell me," said Fanny, " oh, tell me if my fortune will 
be happy V 

The gipsy fixed his eyes upon her guileless, lovely coun- 
tenance, and the ironical expression of his features softened 
into mild, sweet, and mournful contemplation. He took her 
hand, and regarding it for but a moment—" You are to 
marry," said he, " and shortly. Are you happy?" 

" Ye — ye — yes," faltered Fanny, as a tremor agitated her 
w 7 hole frame, and the colour fled her cheek. 

" You're right for once, my friend," said Hasseldon. " She 
will be married ; ay, and in six months too! Is it not so, 
Allan?" 

" True — happily true !" replied Allan, in a rapture. 

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed the mendicant. " No fabrication 
ever coined in hell for the delusion of mankind was yet more 
false." 

u False !" cried Allan, as the blood rushed to his face, and 
his hand instinctively became clenched. 

" Not your heart," replied the gipsy, coolly, " but your 
notions of the future. Listen. Misfortune will this day come 
upon you — yet slightly. You will toil as men for wealth will 
toil; lands wide and fertile may confess you 'lord;' but 
your name will rot in nothingness for ever." 

A shudder involuntarily crept through the flesh of Allan. 

" And mine ?" said Fanny, laughing as in unbelief. 

" Your fate is great," replied the gipsy. "Honour, kind- 
ness of heart, and nobility of nature are concentrated in your 
husband," 

" And where," cried Edward, eagerly smothering his emo- 
tion, " is that harvest of glory to be gathered ?" 

" On the wild sea," replied the gipsy. " On the waste of 
waters — with man to man — 'midst blood and death — the 
grasp for life — with death-shrieks ringing round in mad 
defiance — in the bitter shrieks of slaughtered heroes — there 
rocks the cradle of his glory !" 



82 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



" God send his messenger of peace in that tremendous 
hour !" cried Edward ; and as he looked towards Fanny he 
beheld a face as blanched and bloodless as his own. 

A dark frown for a moment wrinkled Allan's brow, but was 
as rapidly succeeded by a laugh. 

" But tell me ," cried he. 

" No more,'' replied the gipsy, hastily. " Enough, young 
man," continued he, turning to Edward ; when the two 
sweetest and brightest drops are added to the cup of life's foul 
bitterness, then shall you see me as a witness to your bliss, 
and the cold, harsh, withering curse this world has cast on 
me will melt beneath the fervour of your blessing." So saying, 
and throwing his fingers wildly over the strings of his guitar, 
he turned the corner of the lane, and was soon lost amidst 
the foliage of a near plantation. 

" Strange !" said old Hasseldon, rather musingly, 

" Oh, nonsense!" cried Allan. 

" Fudge!" said the lawyer. 

" Sheep in wolf's clothing !" exclaimed the parson. 

" Baugh !" said the doctor. 

" Oh ! here comes the carriage," cried Fanny, as she caught 
a glimpse of the gay array between the trees, and in another 
instant it stood before them. Then came the bustle. " Who's 
for the carriage ? — who the horse ?" when, to settle the matter, 
the ladies were safely deposited inside, and the harder sex 
mounted on horseback. Away went the cavalcade, dashing 
carelessly, joyfully along, all nature smiling; the trees laugh- 
ing with autumnal richness ; cottagers standing at their doors 
to cheer them ; the flowers breathing perfumes in the air ; 
and birds, whose voices seemed almost modulated for the 
praise of nature, lending their delicious music. At length, 
with the rapidity of a courier, the three miles' distance from 
the lord's estate was traversed, and the beautiful hall, almost 
entombed by trees, rose like a fortress lo the view. The wide 
domain was encircled by a low stone wall, not higher than 
the breast of a moderate-sized individual, not so much for the 
defence of the place as to serve as a foundation for the plant- 
ing of cannon of no mean calibre. Amongst the trees, like- 
wise, were fixed innumerable quantities of bells, with the 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 83 



ropes hanging down at variance with the branches, which the 
gentleman kept continually pulling for his particular amuse- 
ment, intermingling it occasionally with the roar of cannon, 
which were loaded afresh every morning, and a fresh box of 
Lucifer matches insinuated into his waistcoat pocket every 
evening. We shall become better acquainted with this gen- 
tleman by just following a few of his actions. On the arrival 
of the carriage at the gate, he seized, with furious grasp, 
every bell-rope in his reach, and rung as if the mansion were 
on fire ; then drawing from his vest a match, he fired a 
cannon large enough to shake the Rock of Gibraltar ; the 
next moment, running to the gate, he raised his stick with 
awful resolution, smashed to pieces the carriage window, 
pushed his head inside, and coolly inquired how they were — 
made the coachman clatter the carriage steps down three 
times before the company alighted — set up three cheers on 
his own account, and then conducted them within, occa- 
cionally touching off a cannon on the road by way of diver- 
sion. Everything was fitted up for the most clamourous 
amusements — shooting at a target, fencing with swords, fire- 
works, timbrels and triangles without end, and horns conti- 
nually blowing. A play was to be got up in the evening, and 
the name of it was " Bombastes Furioso." With hearts full 
of the anticipation of pleasure they skipped along the park — 
old Hasseldon in company with the lord ; the doctor and 
the lawyer, with the parson in the middle, kept a respectful 
distance from every piece of artillery they came near; gay, 
fluttering girls rambled about on every side ; and Allan, with 
the eagerness of a hawk, kept Fanny on his arm as if by right 
of property (valuable property too) ; whilst Edward walked, 
carelessly and loungingly on the other side. Yet Allan's 
glance continually reverted to him, and if but for a moment 
Fanny turned her head when he addressed her, his eye wa3 
never off him. We blame not this. It was affection — ay, as 
true and deep as was ever rooted in a human heart — even to 
piety; for that praise which should otherwise be heaven's 
was lavished upon Fanny as his only idol. It was love in 
natural beauty, untainted by the trickery and deception of 
the world : he adored her almost to madness, and could not 



84 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



nor wished not to conceal it. There is nobility in this pas- 
sion, because it seems so unpolluted, and emulates that love 
which is not ours, but the angels'. Poor Allan ! 

Still onward went the party, admiring and admired ; the 
lord incessantly tinkling his bells, firing his cannons, and 
startling everybody. A beautiful conservatory rose in view, 
and its fragrance perfumed the air with sweetest incense. 

" Oh, Allan, how I should like a flower S" said Fanny. 

"The sweetest one of all!" said Allan, and he bounded 
from her like a roe to pluck one. 

" What an envious commission !" said Edward, as he drew 
near Fanny. " Could the love I bear my queen be conquered, 
how willingly I'd give my hard-earned honour for his !" 

Fanny slightly smiled, but laughingly replied, " Oh ! my 
service is not so arduous as the queen's, and I grant commis- 
sions far more liberally. Will you get me a flower as well ?" 

" A thousand !" cried Edward, with enthusiasm. 

But an accident which threatened to be serious stepped in 
to the salvation of the flowers. Allan, triumphantly bearing 
a beautiful bouquet in his hand, was just returning to deliver 
it, and, anxious to be quick as thought, bounded over a small 
box tree on the right at the same moment that the lord of 
the manor took it into his head to ignite a match and fire off 
a cannon. Though the cartridge but slightly struck him on 
the shoulder, the shock w r as great enough to prostrate him 
upon the earth, and the blood gushed from his ears and nos- 
trils. In a second all were gathered round him ; the doctor 
made an instant examination, yet nothing serious was disco- 
vered, but it was sufficient to debar him from the enjoyment 
of the day. The doctor enjoined rest, and he was conveyed 
into the hall. 

" Here is the flower," said he, holding out his hand. 
" Dear, dear Fanny, the gipsy spoke rightly. You have lost 
your protector for the day." 

"And found another!" said Edward, cheeringly offering 
his arm to her, which was accepted. 

But the last glance of Allan, as they bore him into the 
hall, though suffering from intensity of pain, was poisoned 
with the bitterness of hell. 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 85 



CHAPTER THE FOURTH. 

The festivity of the " Treat of the Lord of the Manor " was 
at its zenith. The sports of the day went off, as we can 
imagine the Battle of Waterloo would do, in thunder, fire, 
and triumph. We can moreover imagine that when the 
evening set in and the strenuous exertions of the lord began 
to slacken, according to the principle laid down by nature, 
that the quieter enjoyment would be much more valued, and 
the worth of the entertainment more cordially appreciated. 
The last curl of the smoke of artillery faded away into air at 
the same time that the last rays of the sun faded away behind 
the hills, and the uproarious voice of the lord of the manor 
became more gentle at the same time that the gentle shades 
of evening mantled earth and sea. And then in mellowest 
light the bright moon rose in silvery gladness, as though 
anxious that not one moment of enjoyment should be lost; 
and stars, whose twinkling eyes appeared like heavenly patron- 
age, studded the unclouded sky, and beamed their feebler 
light upon the scene ; and gay, beautiful, and happy was that 
scene to look upon, like one of those delicious traits in life, 
one of those green spots of happiness which in the after-times 
of care and sorrow we remember with a sad yet pleasing con- 
templation. From every tree, however small, hung lamps of 
every colour and richly variegated, and, as darkness gradually 
increased, their motley flames shone forth in deeper grandeur; 
statues and monuments of classic sculpture graced the ter- 
minus of every walk, and adorned with innumerable devices 
both of ancient and modern character. From this circum- 
stance it will be seen that the gentleman's respect for ancient 
talent was equal to his mania for modern fun. The illumi- 
nated trees and intermingling branches lay so closely planted 
that throughout the wide extent of land many natural and 
unintentional labyrinths were formed, affording thus the pleas- 
ing entertainment of frequently being lost in sylvan beauty, 
and in the search for your recovery constantly been charmed 



86 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



by fresh disclosures of the elegance of nature. Moreover, in 
these decorated parts the graceful fall of a cascade, the rip- 
ple of some trickling stream, the plashing of an embryo 
fountain, or a perfumed bed of flowers, continually opened in 
the mind new themes for contemplation, and roused into 
reaction every joy that otherwise might wane into satiety. 
But now rich strains of music from the illuminated hall pro- 
claimed the opening of the dance ; and there, in gayest cos- 
tume, with partners happily appropriated to each other, and 
the lord of the manor expending all his breath on a double- 
sized trombone, the festivity increased, and only found its 
zenith as the clock struck twelve. The doctor, the lawyer, 
and the parson outvied each other with their weapons of 
ferocity, pugnacity, and solemnity. Old Hasseldon looked 
with a face of delight and admiration on the fairy form of 
Fanny, and Fanny never seemed to feel the lassitude of exercise 
so long as the support was given by the arm of Edward 
Hawthorn. But where was Allan Maydew ? In a lone apart- 
ment of the hall, stretched upon a couch, and with a mind 
more angry than the injuries he received, he groaned beneath 
the doctor's orders of observing perfect rest. He heard the 
merry laugh — the eloquence of music — his mind was peopled 
with a thousand images of gaiety, and as he watched the 
ornamental fireworks now brightening the air with myriad 
sparks, and thought upon the many beauteous eyes which 
gazed towards heaven upon them ; all these combined increased 
the severity of his wound, and, worse than all, kept rankling 
in his heart ; for with this festive scene the thought of Fanny 
— her form so captivatiog, her beauty so irrisistable — was 
associated, and all those angel smiles, which, in the opening 
enjoyment of the morning he anticipated, were changed to 
bitter disappointment. There, alone, in that dreary room, 
impatient of recovery, he raised himself from the couch and 
crawled across the apartment to the window. Beyond, in 
beautiful expanse, lay stretched the kingly park ; and, mean- 
dering through countless trees, the placid lake lay calmly in 
the moonlight, reflecting from its depths the images of the 
stars and the disc of the unclouded moon. Along its margin 
waved the soft laburnams, and their golden beauty appeared 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 87 



as a canopy more fitted for beings of a better world than ours. 
Poor Allan ! a coldness came across his heart, and weary and 
well nigh broken-hearted he sought again the quietude of his 
couch. A gentle tap against the door awoke him from the 
peacefulness of a welcome slumber which at last came over 
him, and the next moment a form as of that of a ministering 
angel entered the apartment. It was Fanny. Oh, how his 
eye brightened, and the energy of manhood flew back to his 
heart ! He forgot the weakness that was on him and quick 
as thought, with a forgetful effort, he rose to meet her. 

" I have escaped," said Fanny, " from the dance to inquire, 
Allan, how you are ? And " 

" Oh, better — better now !" cried Allan, interrupting her, 
" My strength returns to me ; but promise me your hand, 
and I could almost lead a dance." 

" How many would rejoice to see you," answered Fanny, 
tenderly ; " but you are rambling. I am sorry I disturbed 
you." 

" Oh, no ! — oh, no !" cried Allan, bitterly. " If thoughts 
like these are only madness, oh ! how lost to reason have 
been all the years which have chronicled the events of life. 
There never was, dear Fanny, one paltry circumstance, 
however light and trivial, with which I have not connected 
some happy thought of you ; and even pain grows mild when 
you are standing near me." 

Poor Fanny ! She remembered the years that were gone — 
how they had lived together ; how they had wept together, 
and how, in sunnier moments, they had laughed together ; 
how they had thought upon the past, and looked with bright- 
ness to a happy future ; and the tears came into her eyes. 
She could not for a moment recollect one word or deed of 
Allan's that was not fraught with kindness to her; the affec- 
tionate gifts he had presented her ; the noble actions he had 
dared for her ; and as she beheld him there — alone, in pain 
and agony, and yet with eyes suffused by tears of fondest 
love, the weakness of the woman came upon her, and she 
wept bitterly. But yet these holy tears came not from the 
impenetrable depths of love, but from the more shallow fonts 
of gratitude. Her eye, her heart, her soul — all, all were 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



given, never to be moved unto another — ay, given, even to 
herself unknown if they might be accepted. But is there not 
within the silent angel which reads from heart to heart the 
reciprocity of feeling? With all the intensity of woman's 
love — with all the constancy of unchangeable affection — with 
every prayer directed towards heaven, not for herself only, 
but for him — with passion never to be quenched — with life 
enraptured by the thought, she worshipped Edward Haw- 
thorn. A dizziness — a strange sensation almost as of madness 
filled her brain ; it was the moral dictate of the mind in 
contention with the rebellious dictate of the heart ; and she 
leaned beside the couch of Allan for support. 

" You have at least worn the flower I have procured you," 
continued Allan, as his eyes rested on her bosom. " There is 
some consolation in that. How happy to me is the thought 
that love, unlike the flowers, can never die !" 

Fanny trembled violently, and her lip quivered with emo- 
tion. She would have spoken, but utterance failed her. She 
dare not break the spell which seemed upon him, for it dis- 
armed him of all pain ; yet oh ! how deep the torture in her 
own pure breast, to grant that golden but delusive dream to 
linger with him. 

The doctor entered the room at this extremely painful and 
embarrassing moment. He took Allan's hand, but with the 
excitement he had undergone the fever had materially 
increased. The doctor looked cross. 

" All wrong together!" said he. "Must keep still — going 
mad — very — March hare ! What's a draught to a madman ? 
Nothing. Must lose blood — full stream ; and then we have 
him, as the handcuffs said to the prisoner." 

With a deep and fervent pressure of the hand, and a long, 
last lingering look, Allan watched Fanny pass from the apart- 
ment, and the doctor stayed some time alone with him. On 
arriving at the bottom of the staircase, a feeling almost of 
sickness, occasioned by the agony of mind she had undergone, 
came suddenly upon her, and she leaned for support against 
the balustrade. The breeze of evening came softly stealing 
through the trees, refreshed and cooled by the waters of the 
lake ; the sounds of revelry and mirth still issued from the 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 89 



hall -j and, once again revived, Fanny was about returning to 
the dance, when Edward Hawthorn stood before her. 

" You look pale," said he, approaching her ; " and here 
alone !" 

" I have been to see Allan," replied Fanny, " and was 
about returning, but the heat of that crowded room is too 
great." 

"For the same reason I have just left it," said Edward, 
laughing. " I've been far more cool in many an action." 

They were standing on the margin of the lake, and a small 
skiff, purposely constructed for the accommodation of two or 
three persons, lay floating on the water. 

" Let us ride along the lake," said Edward ; and, assisting 
Fanny into the boat, he took the oars, and gently began to 
ply in the water. 

It was glorious too ! On either side the overhanging 
branches were almost intersected, and their coloured lamps, 
like fairy fruit, appeared to cluster with each other, whilst 
between the trees were seen to flit occasionally the happy 
forms of two enamoured ones, or any other given quantity. 

" To pass a night like this," said Edward, " in such a place 
— in such society — deeply embitters the remembrance that I 
soon must leave it." 

" To go — where?" said Fanny. 

" I know not," answered Edward, carelessly. "Perhaps 
to death — perhaps to parch upon some desert ; or, like Robin- 
son Crusoe, to build myself a hut on some benighted island. 
But one thing, Fanny, I do know — I go to duty, and, if fate 
and opportunity befriend me, I hope to glory." 

Fanny sighed (women generally do at such announcements). 
" Oh, why not be content with the laurels you have won," 
said she, " and remain in peacefulness with us ?" 

Edward watched for a moment her countenance distressed 
by deep solicitude ; then, laying down the oars, and seating 
himself beside her, he took her hand. 

" Could all these lands," said he, " enriched as they appear 
by all earth's choicest beauties, be mine to-night, and were 
vassels to kneel before me, I would spurn their contemptible 
obscurity for one bright prize which shines before me, like a 
god in the firmament of honour!" 



90 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



" And that prize ?" said Fanny, eagerly. Poor Fanny ! — 
she thought it was coming. 

" Fame !" cried Edward, with enthusiasm. (Now, fame 
may be all very well ; but that was not exactly what Fanny 
wanted.) " I would be," continued he, " where danger 
threatens — where I might emulate the deeds of those great 
men who have gone before me — where I might lose the dross 
of this besotted world, and live but for nobility — to stand on 
some proud eminence on which is fixed a nation's gaze, and 
there, exalted into honour, to hear the glorious cry, that when 
the enemies of England came down to her destruction, that 
man stood firmly at the bulwarks !" 

Fanny felt the truth of this assertion; for what is life if 
death bring not — a glorious epitaph ? 

" And for this," said she, " you barter all that childhood 
has endeared to you ?" 

" Not all!" cried Edward, growing warm. " You remem- 
ber, Fanny, now some thirteen years ago, when you were but 
a very little girl, how the hand of poverty was upon me. My 
father, wayward as his son, (it may be better), forsook, like 
me, this quiet pastoral life for the chance of fortune in the 
ranks of war. You remember well how he adorned the pro- 
fession he had chosen — how from war to war he led them on 
to victory, till, maddened with desperation at the chances 
of defeat, when overpowered by numbers, he fell into their 
cruel hands. Oh, God ! oh, God ! The very blood within me 
curdles at the memory of his ignominious death. He was 
lashed — lashed to the yard-arm ; his naked breast bared open 
— it may be spit upon — a breast beneath which beat a heart 
no cruelty could conquer ! Oh, God ! I think that I can see 
him now, in fancy — there, alone ! — the bloody sweat of torture 
pouring from him ! — the gory tide of hellish cruelty branding 
his white flesh ! — the recreant eyes of Frenchmen looking on ! 
Oh ! curse them ! Fanny, hear me. When every night I 
kneel before my God — when on my knees, all seems so still 
that I think my prayer is borne to heaven and heard. When 
every nerve is strung to desperate rosolution, I ask for but one 
little word of deep reality to carve upon my father's grave." 

" And that word ?" cried Fanny, tremblingly. 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 91 



u Revenge !" shouted Edward, almost wildly. " For that 
alone I live ; for that I left this peaceful home; since theu I 
have been hunted like a beast at bay ; but now rank — fortune 
has smiled upon me, and, like the lion panting for revenge, 
I'll turn the chase; and let them beware — despair!" The 
tears stood in his eyes whilst speaking, and, with that true 
nobility of soul which marks the hero, when the excitement 
of passion had passed away his head fell languidly on Fanny's 
shoulder. 

" But may not the report be false ?" said Fanny, with that 
heavenly solace which, belongs only to woman. " The darkest 
side is always over-pictured." 

"Heaven grant it!" answered Edward. "It is but too 
true. But let us think of something happier ; this night at 
least is destined to enjoyment ; and I must shortly leave 
these happy scenes for ever." 

" For ever ?" said Fanny. 
" Ay, for ever !" returned Edward. " I could have wished 
to conceal within my own breast that which I might have 
confessed in writing when far away. There are feelings, 
Fanny, which we dare not utter, and which, under certain 
circumstances, are better dead and buried in forgetfulness." 

11 Oh, what ?" cried Fanny. 

Edward paused a moment, and looked into her face. " I 
will be frank with you," said he. " Time hurries on ; all idle 
words are fruitless. From the first moment I beheld you, 
with a passion never to be changed, I loved you. Hope 
sprung within me ; but on that hope I now look as I would 
look down upon a corpse : that hope is dead. You are 
affianced to another." 

" Never !" cried Fanny, in the voice of angel truth. " But 
pledge to me a heart whose love is like to mine, and, oh ! 
through joy or sorrow, poverty or sickness, through tears or 
sunshine — ay, even through the very gate of death — that love 
shall blossom, even in eternity !" 

******* 

What followed, kind reader, is no business of yours ; per- 
haps you may have been in a similar predicament yourself; 
if not, you have a treat to come. The fact is, that almost 



92 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



every author imagines he is able to describe the very peculiar 
sensations which are felt at a moment like this. Now, this is 
an error which we shall avoid — and we claim to ourselves the 
originality of doing so ; likewise, if others would follow our 
example, the generality of writings would stand far higher 
than they do. However, u the course of true love never did 
run smooth," as will be shown in our next chapter. 



CHAPTER THE FIFTH. 

Time passed on. The period awarded to Edward Hawthorn 
as a holiday was drawing to a close, and his active mind had 
already begun to shape his course towards honour in the 
future. The season, too, had begun to change its character, 
and every object to assume a more autumnal aspect. There 
is a something in autumn which, like distant bells, is sadly 
sweet; for when their tinkling music falls upon the ear it 
brings with it the truth, that beneath them lies that dark and 
silent dwelling we have soon to exchange for our bright and 
animated world ; and so, as autumn falls upon us, we feel that 
the fairest and most happy things are fading, and the tomb of 
winter opening to engulph them. The trees were losing their 
leafy richness, and on the light green tint the sear and yellow 
mildew came like a disease ; flowers began to fade, and, as 
Fanny sat in moody contemplation at the oriel window, the 
wrecks of summer strewn upon the ground were borne in 
whirling eddies across the lawn by the cold and rougher winds ; 
days had become materially shorter, and the sportive revelry 
of the summer evenings consequently less, and when the skies 
became more veiled by heavy rolling clouds defacing the 
bright moon, and the night wind drove them on like awful 
spectres, the kindling flame of a cheerful fire in the parlour 
of the cottage was more agreeable by far to the doctor, the 
lawyer, and the parson, and all the other inmates of that 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



93 



happy circle. It was on such an evening that the individuals 
mentioned were convened together, and were talking and 
laughing as if they never had — nor ever expected to have — 
anything to make them sorrowful. Allan had perfectly 
recovered from his illness, and as strength and health again 
returned to him, the anticipation of the reality of his delusive 
dream increased in its intensity day by day — and, indeed, 
that day was fast approaching which, agreeable to every ex- 
pectation, was to chronicle the beginning of his happiness. 
He thought of nothing else — could speak of nothing but of 
Fanny. In the daytime he was never from her side, and in 
the hours of night her form was constantly before him in his 
dreams. Alas ! alas ! how small the bestowal of comprehen- 
sion implanted in the mind when passion overpowers the 
ability of looking to the future. Though doubt and jealousy 
were mixed up with the picture of his happiness — though the 
presence of Edward Hawthorn mingled gall with every 
draught of pleasure that he quaffed, he could not bring him- 
self to the unbelief that the many years of their mutual affec- 
tion could wither in a day. How trivial, however, is frequently 
the cause from which the most fatal and serious events arise, 
and give to the current of life that decisive change which 
otherwise might have flowed on the same for ever. We have 
remarked that they were seated round the fire, the gentler 
ones laughing and talking, and the more rude and turbulent 
drinking and smoking. 

" Ned," said old Hasseldon, blowing a terrific cloud of 
smoke from his mouth, " how I should like to see the medal 
which was presented to you by your commander after the last 
terrible action." 

" And I !" said Annie Hawthorn. 

" And I !" " And I !" responded the rest. 

" Ned's so modest," said Hasseldon, " he keeps all his merit 
in his waistcoat pocket." 

" Yea, of a truth," said the parson, " his good works should 
shine before men." 

" Then I'll act on your advice," said Edward, carelessly 
drawing from his pocket a very handsome medal preserved in 
a crimson miniature case, and which bore the inscription of 



94 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



his bravery in war ; and he accordingly handed it to Hassel- 
don. 

The girls clustered round his shoulders to look at it. 

" How beautiful !" said Annie Hawthorn. u It glitters like 
a diamond." 

" It does honour to your heart, Ned," said Hasseldon, re- 
garding it with a smile of admiration. 

" And credit to his head," said Fanny, somewhat wickedly. 

" Ned's a Bacon as well as a Nelson," said the lawyer; "as 
well as a Nelson Ned is a Bacon ! He's got a head as well as 
a heart — a heart he's got as well as a head ! He'll come to be 
great — to be great he will come ! Let him fight ! — let him 
fight!— let him fight!" 

" Yea, in the service of his country, let him fight," said the 
parson ; " even as the Israelite smote the Philistine." 

" Who wants to stop him ?" said the doctor, taking the 
medal in hand. " Let him go loose — he'll conquer or die. 
Knock 'em down — knock 'em down, as the auctioneer said to 
his hammer. Look at this, Allan," said he, handing it over 
for inspection ; " when you win a prize like this for agricul- 
tural talent, what two noble fellows we shall boast of in the 
family !" 

Allan, with a gay and careless air, took the bauble in his 
hand, but, more curious than the rest, raised between his 
fingers, indeed as much by accident as anything else, the 
snowy piece of wool in which the medal was embedded. 
Great God ! how that little trespass of the finger, like the 
devastating blast of winter on a smiling harvest, laid waste 
in darkness every bright dream of happiness which had been 
to Allan his only heaven. Beneath the wool, in a smooth 
and glossy circle, was twined a lock of beautiful auburn hair, 
and in the centre of that ring, upon a rich enamelled card, 
was written " Fanny." Had the very earth beneath his feet 
that moment divided into two parts to crush him in its vast 
abyss, his emotion could not have been greater. The case 
fell from his hands as though struck by heaven itself with 
inaction, and his eyes, with all the coldness of a stony image 
fastened upon those of Fanny. In a second Edward saw the 
result of his forgetfulness, and, quick as lightning, snatched 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



95 



up the case and secreted it. Keaction — deep, maddening, 
and revengeful — speedily drove off the paralysis of soul with 
which, for a moment, Allan was enthralled, and he rushed 
like a madman from the room. Fanny had nearly dropped 
with the emotion which agitated her whole frame, as would 
some fragile bark beneath a strong tempestuous wind, and, 
with a powerful effort, she flew to the window to conceal 
what otherwise must soon have become evident. As for 
Edward, the same proud look and signification of resolution 
lit up his countenance, for he now felt that in Allan's eyes he 
must for ever stand as a successful and determined rival, and 
he felt no wish to hide it. With the firmness and courage of 
a man, he resolved to throw all obstacles, however formidable, 
overboard at once, and openly declare his love ; for what has 
man to fear beneath the law of honour ? Though nothing 
could be more painful and embarrassing than the three pecu- 
liar situations into which they were cast in less than three 
minutes of time, it was known only to themselves. 

But let us follow Allan. With a brain in which the natural 
sensibility of man was lost, and a burning heat as of madness 
coursing every vein, he flew, like one distracted, over hill 
and dale, in vain attempting, in the cold night air, to quench 
the fever which parched his very soul. Like one who in this 
world has not a single object to pursue, nor cares for one, he 
traversed every path of deepest solitude, until nature, weary 
and exhausted by excitement, gave way, and he flung himself 
upon the earth. Rage, sorrow, a broken heart, and then 
revenge, like torturing fiends, beset him, till, overcome by 
the contending passions, he yielded to a law more heavenly, 
and wept bitterly. Poor Allan ! He had loved as no man 
ever had ; he had idolised but one thing upon earth ; he had 
cast away all thought but that of her ; and with all the 
intensity of his unhappy soul he prayed for death. His eye 
rolled round in search of something to afford relief, but every 
object — a tree or walk, the distant village — only embittered 
the distraction, for there was no place that Fanny's foot had 
not trodden in company with him, and made it like a heaven. 
At times the tears afresh came starting to his eyes, and again 
his hand became clenched in deadliest vengeance. The breeze 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



of night swept coldly across his brow, now bathed in perspi- 
ration, and with a calm, determined resignation, and the 
iron entering his soul, he swore an oath more terrible than 
that of Cain. He rose upon his feet with all the eagerness of 
vengeance, resolved to hear from Fanny's lips the words of 
his refusal, and then for the work of death. Drawing his 
vest closely round him, like the wolf in darkness, he began 
to track the road that Edward Hawthorn usually traversed, 
determined on that dreadful night to watch him as his prey ; 
and thus he retraced his footsteps to the cottage. All was 
just as he had left it — the friendly talk and jocularity going 
round ; but neither Fanny Hasseldon or Edward Hawthorn 
were of the party. Scarcely regarding anything but their 
absence, he again quitted it, and stole beneath the gloom of 
the trees which overhung the highroad. At about a mile 
distant from the cottage there stood the ruin of an old building 
which at one time was supposed to have been an abbey or 
some abode of sanctity, for within its ivied walls were still 
preserved some relics of the shrines of the departed. It was 
pointed out in that part of the country as a curiosity, and 
frequently visited by travellers who chanced to pass that way. 
Its mouldering stones were daily crumbling into pieces, and 
its ancient grandeur was faded by the hand of time ; yet still 
the vestiges of graves remaining, and the inscriptions of the 
dead not entirely effaced, threw round it, as it were, a sacred- 
ness which they who lived near it were affraid to violate. It 
stood upon the edge of a precipice, beneath which lay the 
rough and angular stones which at different times had fallen 
from it ; and though to look below the depth might not 
appear above twenty yards, yet to fall must have been imme- 
diate death. It was in this place that, unable to remain in 
the cottage, Fanny and Edward Hawthorn had repaired to 
screen themselves from observation and talk of their inten- 
tions for the future. It was a cold night, and clouds, in dark 
and heavy masses, now and again obscured the moon, and 
threw around the place a terror which at times made Fanny 
look around and shudder. Edward threw his cloak about 
her, and, taking her right hand in his — 

" Let us kneel and swear together," said he, " beside this 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 97 



hallowed tomb, that our love shall never change ; that before 
the face of enemies or friends — before poverty or greatness — 
your father and the memory of mine — ay, even to the very 
face of Allan Maydew, we will not deny our affection for 
each other, and I will carve for you a name that nobles shall 
not blush to hear." 

Fanny passed her arm round his neck, and knelt there with 
him. 

" This, indeed," said Edward, joyfully, u throughout all 
time will be remembered in our after-life as one of the 
brightest moments of existence I" 

" It was foretold you !" cried a deep and manly voice, 
and the mournful tones of a guitar accompanied the words. 

A stifled scream escaped from Fanny, and she clung to 
Edward for support. It was the gipsy ! 

u I have heard that voice before," said Fanny. " Oh ! is 
there not evil in its tone ?" 

Edward looked around, and in the paneless vacancy of the 
ruined window the figure of the gipsy stood but for a moment, 
and instantly disappeared in the darkness. 

" Strange !" said Edward. " Fanny, since first I saw that 
man I have never been able to banish him from my memory." 

" Oh, let us leave this place !" said Fanny. " There is a 
fatality about it which makes me tremble." 

Edward took her arm, and gently led her towards the 
crumbling portal of the ruin, and both were about to leave 
the place, when the form of a man suddenly darkened the 
archway. The moon that instant peered through the gloom 
of a black cloud, and burst full upon his face. It was Allan 
Maydew. He was pale as death, and his bloodless lips were 
quivering in silent curses with the intensity of passion. Fanny 
screamed wildly, and, with the timidity of woman, clung to 
Edward. Not a second elapsed ere Allan's hands were fas- 
tened like a vice round Edward's throat, and his fingers, like 
the talons of the hawk, actually rankled in the flesh. 

"Dog!" cried he, whilst his eye rolled wildly in deadliest 
hatred. "You have blasted every hope I had in life; you 
have taken from me that which God and childhood promised 
me; from my very heart you have robbed the life-blood 



98 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



which sustained me ; and, by the sacredness of heaven, I'll 
never quit you till I gloat upon the sight of yours !" 

Fanny fell beside the relic of a gravestone almost senseless. 

" Release your hold !" cried Edward, almost choked by the 
gripe of Allan. 

" Never !" cried Allan. 

" Madman ! Take your hand from my throat, I say !" 

" Never, till death unclasp the gripe !" shouted Allan. 

" I would not willingly hurt you, Allan," cried Edward ; 
but, mind, I am a desperate man !" 

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed Allan, almost like a demon. 

"Then the work of your own folly be upon you!" cried 
Edward - } and, giving free exercise to the strength of his arm, 
he dealt a blow so furious on Allan's breast that he fell, like a 
child, insensible. The next moment he raised Fanny from 
the ground, more dead than living. 

She gazed wildly upon Allan as he lay stretched on the 
bare earth, close by the very edge of the precipice, and, 
sudden as some onward current which after long obstruction 
has cast the barrier free, burst into a flood of tears. 

" What have you done ?" said she to Edward, in an agony, 
yet clinging firmly to him. " Oh, God ! how little did I look 
for this ! Poor Allan ! he is dead !" 

" Not dead !" cried Allan, languidly, as sense returned to 
him, and he rose upon his feet. " Not dead ; but hating life. 
One moment hear me, Fanny. Revenge has passed away, 
and I am calm. You cannot, surely, banish from your heart 
our love of former years ; yet, let them pass. You cannot 
count as worthless those tears which now fall from me ; you 
cannot trifle with the promised blessing of your father on our 
union. Look on me here ; more like a beast infuriate than 
human — and all for you — for you alone ! Can this be false ? 
Have I deserved this scorn ? Now hear me — and by the hope 
I have of heaven I swear to do it ! Behold me ! I stand 
upon the brink of this tremendous gulf (here he approached 
the edge of the precipice) ; but speak the word that you dis- 
card me, and by the God who at the last will judge me rightly, 
I hurl myself a shattered corpse upon the stones beneath !" 

A shriek, terrible, wild, and thrilling, from Fanny, rung 
through hill and valley. 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 99 



" The word !" cried Allan, as he waved his arms round in 
the air, and with one foot planted for the leap. 

" Now, Fanny !" shouted Edward, as he released his hold 
of her. " The test has come ! The one or other even unto 
death !" 

"Allan!" cried Fanny, as, at the first impulse, with the 
righteousness of the angel, she rushed forward to save him 
from destruction. 

" Fanny !" said he, with tenderness, as, overcome with 
the extreme excitement of the last few minutes, she fainted 
in his arms, and became alike insensible of what she had done 
or what was passing around her. 

A bitter smile just slightly curled the lip of Edward Haw- 
thorn, and, turning on his heel, he left the spot. His proud 
soul was stung. The same night he departed from the village. 
Oh, reader ! let us just quote here again the latter part 
of those beautiful lines — 

" A word is ringing through my brain ; 
It was not meant to give me pain ; 
It was when first the sound I heard 
A lightly-utter'd, careless word. 
Oh ! would to God I ne'er had heard 
That lightly-utterM, careless word !" 



CPAPTER THE SIXTH.— CONCLUSION. 

Whilst the cordial interchange of feeling and the jest and 
joke went round amongst the happy inmates of Mushroom 
Cottage ; whilst the lawyer passed his joke upon the parson, 
and the doctor as usual came forward to the attack; whilst 
Hasseldon was laughing at the mockery of the argument, how 
little did he think of the unhappy circumstances transpiring 
without. And pitiful it seems, that when so many years of 
uninterrupted happiness had gilded every moment of his life; 
when, from the company of Fanny — his dear and only child — 
he had laid aside all worldly matters, and thought of but one 

L. of C. 



100 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



thing — her brightest welfare — that in the wane of life the 
furrow should be ploughed upon his cheek and coursed with 
teai^s of bitterness from him. In the midst of their hilarity, 
and during the very conversation which then happened to be 
passing pertaining to the approaching union of his daughter 
with Allan Maydew, the door of the apartment was opened, 
and Allan, pale and haggard with the dreadful scenes in which 
he had borne so terrible a part, entered the apartment. His 
dress was disordered by the struggle he had borne with Ed- 
ward Hawthorn, and one or two marks of violence were on 
his face ; his whole demeanour was unsettled in the extreme, 
and he tried in vain to assume a composure which nature 
would not tolerate. Taking a chair, he seated himself as far 
as politeness would admit from the company round the table, 
and, burying his face in his hand, appeared lost to everything 
around him. A deep sigh, which seemed to devastate all 
happier feelings, frequently escaped him, and, though unseen 
by others, many tears trickled through his fingers, which 
his swollen eyes were unable to contain. 

" Allan, you appear unwell to-night," said Hasseldon. 
"Where is Fanny?" 

Allan's heart almost swelled to bursting — it was indeed full 
and utterance well nigh failed him. 

" She is not well either," answered he, almost choked by 
the emotion. 

" Not well !" said Hasseldon, surprised. 

Allan roused himself from the despondency which almost 
weighed him to the earth — 

" She left me for the retirement of her own chamber," said 
he. " She has complained of illness all day." 

Hasseldon immediately quitted the apartment to go to his 
daughter. 

" And where is Ned ?" said the lawyer. 

Allan trembled. " He left me at the ruin not an hour ago," 
said he. 

" Bid him good night for me," replied the doctor, rousing 
to depart ; which very appropriate example was followed by 
the rest of the company, and Allan, tortured by the presence 
of all, was left to the relief of solitude. He rose from his 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 101 



seat, and paced the room in all the agony which dissimulation 
brings. He knew not how to act, or what to do. He had 
borne Fanny to the cottage in his arms insensible, and v. hen 
awakened from that awful trance, she had sought with eager- 
ness, as if pursued by some horrible phantom, the loneliness of 
her apartment, where, unobserved, she might weep for that 
relief which tears can only bring. At the moment that Has- 
seldon entered the room she was sobbing with her face upon 
the bed, as if every fibre of her heart would break, and those 
playful eyes, which but a little earlier were bright and full of 
dearest language, lit up with joy, and beaming full with hope, 
were reddened by the deepest anguish ; whilst her face, which 
made you love her to regard it, was pale, and bloodless as a 
statue. Her father took her hand in tenderest affection, and 
inquired the cause ; but tears, hot and burning, flowed but 
more profusely, and, as he raised her from the bed, she fell 
upon his breast^ and wept in freedom. 

" You appear unhappy, Fanny," said he. " Are you un- 
well ? — or what has caused these tears ? — they are the first I've 
seen for many a year." 

She could not speak, and only answered by deeper floods of 
grief, which kindness always brings when spoken to the 
troubled heart. 

" Oh ! leave me but a moment," cried Fanny, in a voice 
of anguish, " and I will tell you all." 

Hasseldon, gently relaxing his embrace, affectionately bid 
her good night, and left her to the repose of sleep, which he 
vainly thought would soon chase from her some sorrowful 
reflections the circumstance of her approaching marriage 
might engender. Descending the staircase, he again entered 
the parlour, and taking leave of Allan, they both retired for 
the night. It was in vain that Allan flung himself upon the 
bed, and tried to sleep. The circumstances of that fearful 
night raged like a rebellion through his brain, and almost 
drove him mad. He had heard the oath, so wrapt in holiness, 
which was breathed from Fanny's lips to Edward Hawthorn, 
and his heart failed him ; yet he could not banish the remem- 
brance how she had rushed to save him — how when even the 
test was put by Edward Hawthorn she had called upon his 



102 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



own name, and fallen in his arms ; and then hope sprung once 
more within him. Pale, restless, and care-worn, he watched 
the night clouds pass away, and eagerly anticipated the ad- 
vance of morning. The sun hroke out in all the clearness of 
an autumn sky; nature was awaking; the birds were singing, 
and all looked life and animation. Composing himself as 
much as possible, he left his chamber, and entering the par- 
lour, discovered Hasseldon with the doctor, the lawyer, and 
the parson, seated at the breakfast table, and in a few minutes 
afterwards Fanny — deathly pale, yet calm and cheerful-look- 
ing — entered the apartment. Whilst all were thus seated, 
apparently undisturbed, and reconciled together, Hasseldon 
congratulating himself on Fanny's convalescence, the door 
was opened and a note delivered into his hands, which he 
read aloud. It was thus briefly worded : — 

" Duty having called me away, I have left the village. I could not 
bear the thought of parting ; and you will pardon the abruptness when 
you consider that it has saved me much unhappiness and pain. — Edward 
Hawthorn." 

" Noble fellow !" said the lawyer, which eulogy was cor- 
dially responded to by all the others. 

But, alas! for Fanny — the very principle of life seemed 
passing from her; a sickening kind of enervation almost 
made her fall, but, with the strongest effort her little re- 
maining strength was capable of commanding, she happily 
escaped to her own room, and locked the door. And then 
there came that joyless blank — that sepulchre of the heart, 
which, when all it ever treasured is no more, beats not from 
the impulse of the soul, but only from the mechanism given 
to it by nature — that law of life continuing when the soul 
with fervency is praying for its death. There was not within 
her breast one little corner where she might find relief, for in 
that love, which was the first as surely as it would be the last, 
all life's best feelings were centred; and as the flower bereft of 
its prolific principles will wither, so Fanny's health was fading 
like to it. She sat beside the window weeping, regardless of 
the natural scenery that in happier moments she had praised ; 
the flowers around her felt no longer the fostering tenderness 
of her hand, and seemed almost to droop ; yet when some 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 103 



object which revived the memory of many joys attracted her 
she could but turn away and weep more bitterly. One little 
word, though righteously spoken, still rung within her brain 
like the death-bell of her happiness— one little word that was 
not meant for misery, but for good. It was in vain she tried 
to bring again into order the thoughts which, like the frag- 
ments of some shattered wreck at sea, had torn her mind to 
pieces : all was dream-like, as though in time she yet might 
awake to some happier reality. Could oaths so sacred and so 
deep be cancelled all at once ? — or if another heart were like 
to hers, could it forget how much it once had loved ? 

Days — weeks passed on, but yet Edward came not, nor had 
one line to them disclosed his place of destination ; and when 
Fanny sat, almost regardless of everything around her, in the 
cottage — whilst all was merriment amongst the rest, her 
thoughts were far away, and her eye exploring the long line 
of road, in vain imagining that every individual might be the 
bearer of some happy news. Meanwhile the day appointed 
for her marriage was close at hand, and the most active pre- 
parations were going on ; yet although it would have been far 
easier to attract the magnet from the pole than to alter her 
determination to resist it, the gentle, timid spirit of her nature 
had not the moral courage to disclose it. On the eve of that 
eventful day, she was seated by the side of Allan, almost in 
distraction ; she heard him speak with eloquence and warmth 
of his approachiDg happiness ; she saw the happy smile her 
father cast upon her face ; she listened to the congratulations 
of her friends ; she saw before her the chaste white dress she 
was to wear, the flowers which were to enwreath her hair, 
the busy needle plying for the completion of her bridal cos- 
tume, the actual ring which was to take her from her home 
and, indeed, from happiness ; the tears once more started to 
her eyes ; she left the side of Allan, and taking from her 
breast one little well-known token of another, she kissed it 
rapturously. Stealing away from the rest of the company) 
she again sought her chamber, and, with a mind perfectly 
collected, but a heart entirely broken, she wrote the following 
lines to Edward, addressing them with all uncertainty to 
where she thought his character in life would lead him, and 



104 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



which he afterwards received. Her hand trembled, and the 
tears in her eyes almost obscured the characters as she wrote : 

" I will not address you by any name which might recal the memory 
of the past, for I would spare you the agony it gives me. Yet you have 
taken with you that which you could only have in marriage— all the 
affection my Creator ever gave me. By your side I felt myself the 
woman, but now that you are gone I am again the child. They tell me 
that I am to be married on the morrow ; but, oh ! may heaven grant that, 
though I have no protector now, I may have strength enough and right- 
eousness of soul to avoid the wicked act. You are gone, I hope, into 
that path of honour you so beautifully spoke of; and if one bended knee 
may but assist you, think only upon me in one unchanging posture of 
humility .— F. H." 

When Edward read this simple, guileless letter, he fell upon 
his knees and prayed. 

******* 

The night passed away, and the beautiful morning fixed for 
Fanny's wedding rose bright and beautiful. The sun shone 
warmly and brightly ; the village bells were chiming their 
merry peal; friends were there to greet her; and all the 
excitement incident to such a memorable day was passing 
round her. But Fanny gazed upon them not as scenes or 
circumstances of reality, but as we look upon a panorama or 
dissolving view ; as things which have been, and not which 
are to happen. There was not one small tint upon her pallid 
cheek, which in her days of happy love was never absent; 
there was not an expression of the eye which could tell of 
happiness, or even stimulate it ; but, like the glazed, un- 
moving features of the dead, she seemed the passive victim of 
a sacrifice more than one whose union with another should 
chronicle a life of bliss. 

Still merrily rang the bells, and gaily the wedding equipage 
assembled at the cottage gate. Allan, excited to the utmost 
by the prospect of his happiness, gaily took the arm of Fanny, 
which clasped in his more like the action of an automaton 
than any living thing. He led her to the altar ; she stood 
there like the statues carved about her; all friends were 
gathered round ; and there — amidst that crowd, in a voice 
distinct a3 [utterance could be, she refused the oath. The 
climax had come : she could confess before her God what she 
could never have done to man. The struggle had been great, 



MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 105 



and her father rushed forward to save her from falling. All 
was instant confusion and astonishment. 

" Oh, God ! oh, God!" cried Allan, as in agony he struck 
his forehead. " She loves not me !" 

The doctor, prompt as thought, saw Fanny conveyed as 
quick as possible back again to the cottage, and never left 
her side. Her reason almost appeared shattered by the thou- 
sand contending feelings that distracted her ; whilst the poor 
aged father knelt beside her, almost broken-hearted. Allan 
could not for a moment bear to look upon the scene ; he had 
done with passion, and nothing but a heart lone, drear, and 
desolate was left him. But his mind and resolution had now 
become fixed. He determined to quit his native scenes for 
ever ; and calling Hasseldon from the room, he related 
frankly every circumstance connected with the visit of Edward 
Hawthorn. But where was he? Away — afar off — it was 
unknown to any where the author of this misery might be. 

Two days passed by, but the indisposition with which Fanny 
was so seriously taken continued still unchanged. Her intel- 
lect at times appeared confused, and her mind was frequently 
engaged with things which had never been familiar. She 
would talk of circumstances which for years had been for- 
gotten, and even at times mistake one person for another. 
All life and vivacity had left her, and her once beautiful figure 
seemed to shrink within itself. So feeble had she become 
that, when walking but a dozen yards, the doctor had to 
support her. Tt was on the evening of the third day after the 
distressing circumstance mentioned that he had ordered her 
to be taken a little distance from the cottage to inhale the air, 
which was unusually mild and warm. Everything around was 
still. The day was just closing ; the village appeared mantled 
in serenity ; and it seemed a night when the soul, o'er-wearied 
by the body, might wing its transit peacefully to heaven. 
Fanny appeared more weak and feeble than she had ever 
done, and the fit of abstraction longer and more deep. All 
friends were round her, and, as they watched the tears cours- 
ing down her pretty face, now pale as marble, their own eyes 
filled, and they knelt beside her. The doctor watched her, 
while his kind heart was almost bursting ; yet he forbade her 



106 MUSHROOM COTTAGE. 



own father even to speak to her. He approached her gra- 
dually, for her form was tottering. Her countenance grew 
sickly, and a clammy perspiration bathed her face — in another 
moment she would have fallen. 

" Great God !" cried Hasseldon, rushing forward. " Poor, 
poor, poor child ! — she is dying !" 

The doctor turned his head, and burst into tears. 

" Fanny !" cried h«r father, in the wildest agony ; " dear, 
dear Fanny ! speak but one little word !" 

He felt his hand just slightly clasped, but not a breath 
escaped her lips ! 

Poor, poor Fanny ! She was dead ! 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



FIRST WEEK. 

During the week, the boat coaches have been heavily 
oppressed by visiters, but especially invalids; conveying to 
us the silent but comfortable intelligence that the neigh- 
bouring hospitals have been well swept out. There is a season 
for everything — and this is ours. 

We are sorry to announce that Peter the Bellman has been 
suffering under a violent inflammation of the chest, caused by 
the fiery redness of his waistcoat. The pain has been so great 
that he has cried loudly and tolled his tale piteously. 
We sincerely hope that he will not be lost to us, but he found 
convalescent, and handsomely rewarded for his sufferings. 

There is a lady just arrived in our village, via St. Helen's, 
with a nose so sharp that when her husband kisses her at 
night, he merely scrapes his chin across it, and he is shaved 
for the following morning. 

The Ionic Pillar, at the corner of Nevill-street, has been 
suffering under severe indisposition during the last few days, 
caused by the immensity of stock in the establishment of the 

proprietor. Mr. was called in, and he administered 

an emetic, when, having discharged a morbid quantity of tea 
chests, sugar-loaves, mould candles, and pickles, it again 
became convalescent, and still waits for a commission. Have 
pity, ladies ! 



110 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



A very interesting and beautiful young lady, being coura- 
geous enough, on Wednesday last, to bathe alone, unfortunately 
got out of her depth. We are happy, however, to state that 
she was rescued ; but being very thickly incrusted with shrimps, 
she was immediately conveyed to the hot-bath, where she 
speedily recovered; likewise, the shrimps having become 
boiled, the young water nymph collected them into a reticule, 
took them home, made a hearty tea, and had a sufficient 
quantity left for breakfast the day following. 

Sitting on a tombstone, the other night, at twelve o'clock, 
for the sake of solemnity and solitude, we were sorry to hear 
the long finger of the clock complaining to the short one, as 
they met at midnight, that it was not very well. " Oh, never 
mind, old fellow !" replied the little fat indicator ; " you will 
soon come round again" And so they parted. 

A gentleman recently arrived at Southport has had the mis- 
fortune to become bald-headed. His lady, we understand, 
is most disconsolate, for such is the obstinacy of her lord, 
that he has actually refused the use of bears' grease and 
macassar oil, and despised a wig because he chances to be a 
Tory. Our advice is that he should quietly await the coming 
of the next regatta, and try the salubrious effects of treacle- 
dipping : it gives strength and stiffness to the hair ; and, in 
proof of this assertion, we can produce a donkey-boy who, 
till lately, never had a hair upon him. 

The vane at the mast-head in front of the Scarisbrick Arms 
has become so inebriated by the fume of the brandy and 
tobacco exhaled by the numerous occupants, that it is con- 
stantly annoying the four quarters by changing the wind fifty 
times a-day. We can only compare it to a cruel enemy, for 
it gives no quarter. 

We have not lately seen or heard anything of the comet. 
It was thought to be visible the other night, when the moon 

was at full ; but it proved to be only Captain W flying a 

kite with a phosphoric tail to it. 

Dreadful Denouncement of the Public Baths. — 
Walking, the other evening, on the Promenade, we were 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. Ill 



unavoidably compelled to hear the following lamentable tale. 
A lady, of rather dejected countenance, declared to her com- 
panion that the Baths had been the death of her — a lover had 
slipped through her fingers in consequence of them. She 
and the idolised one were walking together on the very spot 
on whieh they then stood — sweet converse was at the zenith — 
her lover glowed with the fervency of affection— the moment 
was peculiarly interesting — he was positively on the eve of 
proposition, when those filthy washing-tubs— the baths — 
appeared, and, instead of those sweet words, " Will you," 
&c, he actually paused a moment, and said he'd take a bath. 
She waited with a palpitating heart for his return — two ribs 
were nearly fractured in consequence — she thought another 
rib would have gone — now was the time, or never ! — he 
quivered with emotion— poor fellow, she must pity him ! — ■ 
he was, perhaps, modest — very !— when — horror upon hor- 
rors ! — upon her casting an angel smile upon him, he was 
only shivering in an ague, and talked of porter, warm — very 
warm — actually fettled !• — yes, he absolutely used that vulgar 
epithet ', and she had never seen him since — the chance was 
lost ; and she heartily wished the proprietor of the Baths 
might be consumed in his own smoke. So much for bathing. 

A gentleman walking up Sea-bank-road pointed out to 
his friend (whom we presume to be an Irishman) an 
individual with a cork leg. " Poor fellow !" exclaimed the 
Hibernian ; " and has he a cork foot likewise V 

We rejoice to state that the railway fever which of late has 
caused such ravaging dissensions has passed away, and things 
are now assuming a more healthy aspect. 



Saturday, June 28, 1845, 



SECOND WEEK. 

Extraordinary Birth. — A poor woman, in Nevill- 
street, has had the remarkable honour of bequeathing to the 
world three healthy new-born infants— two twins, and a dis- 



1L2 EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 



similar one. The dissimilar one is a remarkably fine fellow, 
and refuses the breast ; but the other two are milksops. As 
the occurrence took place when the tide was slap up, and the 
rain coming down like a universal shower bath, the Spirit of 
the Flood descended on them, and they were there and then 
denominated Shem, Ham, and Japheth. 

The Ionic Pillar, at the corner of Nevill-street, has actually 
been caught winking at a donkey-girl ! What on earth will 
it do next ? 

Court Circular. — Her Majesty the Queen and his 
Royal Highness Prince Albert held a levee at Little London, 
on Wednesday last, which was attended by a number of 
distinguished equestrians on Arabian steeds. The Spanish 
Ambassador was expected from La Mancha; but, one of his 
children having got the measles, he was not able to leave 
home. Her Majesty and her Royal Consort, after having 
expressed their sentiments to Count Bolton and Prince Rim- 
mer, dismissed 1hem, with a glass of beer, to their respective 
territories. Duke Jump had an interview with Viscount 
Hodge, on Thursday last, for the purpose of considering the 
propriety of raising the revenue - arising from sea-bathing. 
The illustrious Duke and Visc6unt not being able to agree in 
fixing the rate of duty, blows were had recourse to, when the 
antagonists were speedily found bathing in their own blood ; 
thus monopolising the Red Sea to themselves. Lord Ball 
took his usual airing by the fire in the Public Baths on Friday 
last, being considerably damped by the non-success of the 
season. 

Lucky Escape. — In the heavy gale on Tuesday evening 
last, when all respectable eyes were closed in sleep, three un- 
fortunate vessels were blown ashore with such violence that 
the bowsprit of one had nearly carried away Mr. Newton's 
lamp, in Nevill-street. A numerous party of rescuers were 
seen coming down London-street to their assistance, when the 
ships, perceiving who they were, immediately slipped back 
into the sea, and sailed away towards Liverpool. 

Peter Pickled. — The village crier being compelled to 
have recourse to sea-bathing to invigorate him after his recent 



EPITOME OF THE YILLAGE NEWS. 113 



illness, has become so impregnated with the saline particles, 
that he is no longer Peter the Bellman, but Salt-Petre. 

Our correspondent from St. Petersburgh has not yet arrived 
with the Russian intelligence; nor do we expect him. 

The old lady who sells vegetables in the market in front of 
the Assembly-room, has just dropped into a fortune, but is so 
enamoured of a commercial life, that when asked what she 
intends to do with it, she only answers, " Buy more vegetables. 5 ' 
How green she must be. 

We really think there must be some peculiar fascination in 
the spirits of the Scarisbrick Arms ; for no sooner has the 
vane in front of the house become sober, than we perceived, 
the other night, a gentleman whirled out with such velocity 
that we can only assimilate him to a top, for in another 
moment he could not stand upon his pegs. However well this 
gentleman may dance the Polka, he evidently excels in the 
reel. Perhaps he thinks us severe ; but as tops are so well 
cut out for tohipcord, we really cannot withold the lash. 
Should this meet his eye, the hint will perhaps come home to 
him ; and we sincerely hope, whenever it does, that it may 
find him there, 

We were somewhat surprised, the other night, at the arrival 
of a man of colour upon crutches by one of the bridge coaches. 
We must confess, with all due deference to the sombre 
gentleman, that we were forcibly reminded of the principal 
character in " Asmodeus." 

We perceive in the village a remarkably small individual, 
not much taller than his hat. We at first thought he might 
probably be one of the little cherubs attendant on the fairies,* 
entangled in the world's net ; but this, we understand, is not 
the case, for he came by the Swallow omnibus, and was then 
six feet high. Although this capacious vehicle sicallowed 
him, it could not digest him entirely, and, feeling oppressed 
by the load, threw him up at last ; so that what we now gee 
is all that remains of him — an animated bit of indigestion. 



The Ladies' Club. 



114 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



It is our pride and caution always to avoid the introduction 
of any stale and second-hand matter ; but we really could not 
help remembering Cruikshank on seeing a dog on the Prome- 
nade with its tail curled so very much that it actually lifted 
it off its hind legs. Though this is not fresh from the mint, 
it is a coin that will long remain current. 

The writer of this intelligence begs to state that, having just 
upset his inkstand on the tablecloth, he is not able to write 
any more. The landlady has caught him in the very act, and 
she looks blacker than the ink, which has the decided effect 
of making him look blue. It's too bad, Miss W ! Be- 
lieve me, whenever you get married, you'll look pleasanter 
than that. Ah, you needn't laugh ! only just wait till I come 
round again, and we'll square matters immediately. — Sapo 
mollis ! 



Saturday, July 5, 1845. 



THIRD WEEK. 

Did we not confidently know, both by public and private 
information, that the toll-collector on the Promenade is a man 
of the soundest integrity and good principle, we should feel 
inclined to question his morality, for we never go upon the 
Promenade but we see him in the Boundhouse. 

We understand from our agricultural friends in the vicinity, 
that a considerable quantity of hay yet remains to be got in ; 
but we do not care a straw for that — why should we ? for all 
flesh is grass, and we don't like confinement. 

The crops, it is thought, will be very abundant this season 
in Southport ; at least so says Mr. Sawyer, the hair-cutter — 
his shears having cut down the ears of 150 schoolboys. 

Pay for Peeping. — On Wednesday last, towards even- 
ing, a boy, attired in the donkey costume, had the fatal 
impiety to dismount from his steed and clamber up the sides 
of the Ionic Pillar, and look down the aperture at the top, to 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 115 



ascertain what was in it. The superincumbent weight pressing 
upon the magical springs below, forced up a pickled cucumber 
with such immense velocity that, entering the right eye of 
the boy, it pierced the brain, again appearing through the 
base of the skull, and knocked down the donkey below, to the 
great astonishment of the animal. The boy, of course, is of 
no consequence ; but we regret to state that the cucumber is 
not to be found. We rejoice, however, to hear that an inquest 
will be held over the first conquest of the Pillar. 

We cannot help smiling at the complaints of our numerous 
visiters against the wet weather. What else do they expect, 
we wonder, when they come to a watering-place, 

Mr. Salthouse, of the Victoria, is at present in possession 
of some of the most generous wines in the country. It is so 
extremely old that it is actually compelled to go down your 
throat upon crutches. Though we do not for a moment 
question the antiquity of this luxury, yet even we in our 
poverty can boast of older wine than that. The reader may, 
perhaps, be curious to know what kind it is. Elder, to be 
sure. 

Strange Delusion. — A gentleman, somewhat the worse 
for a repetition of glasses, became so unsteady in his gait, 
that he was straightways taken through the door of the police 
prison. During his night's confinement, strange to say, "he 
dreamt that he dwelt in marble halls." 

The Ionic Pillar, at the corner of Nevill-street, is so 
enraged at some recent insults offered it, that if you place a 
thermometer five yards distant the quicksilver rises with such 
force and rapidity, that the instrument is smashed to pieces 
in an instaut. 

Singular instance of Insanity. — A gentleman of a 
peculiar cast, walking on the shore the other day, suddenly 
fancied himself a bathing-machine, and seizing a fat old lady 
with a parasol, who happened to be standing near, bore her 
on his back into the ocean and ducked her most unmercifully. 
Long and loud were the shrieks of his victim ; but he would 
not stir an inch until the horse was yoked to him, beneath the 
arms, when he was dragged on shore. The gentleman looked 



116 EPITOME OP THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



as placid as ever ; but, alas, the lady ! — she blushed so vio- 
lently, that her dress, which was only of a pink colour, changed 
into a deep red. We hope by this time, like Lundyfoot's 
snuff, she is Jiigh-dried. 

Shellwork. — So exquisitely beautiful and ingenious is 
the shellwork at the Repository, that four crustaceous dwellers 
of the sea left their homes last week to look at them. The 
visiters consisted of an oyster, a muscle, a cockle, and a peri- 
winkle. The fair proprietress must, no doubt, have been 
much astonished to see them enter her premises and inquire 
for apartments. The oyster declared that he would willingly 
leave his native home to dwell in such a paradise ; the muscle 
said he was brawny enough without salt water, and that it 
would warm the cocldes of his heart to live there ; the cockle 
swore by his beard that he was so overjoyed he could not 
stand, and tumbled over, offering his useless pins t0 ^ e 
feeble periwinkle ; but the latter gentleman politely declined 
them, saying he had no wish to be stuck upon such things. 

Miss , however, with her customary kindness and 

urbanity, assured them that the apartments were bespoken ; 
when the rueful company quitted the establishment to retrace 
their footsteps to the sea. They marched off in excellent 
order — the oyster walking first, the muscle next, the cockle 
afterwards, and the periwinkle last. On arriving at the 
corner of Nevill-street, they paused to look at the Ionic 
Pillar, and were regarding it with all the admiration it so 
justly merits, when a cat leaped over the pailings of Upper 
Willow Cottage, and swallowed them in an instant. 

We at present know a gentleman, sixty-five years of age, 
so exceedingly gay and dissipated that we are shocked to see 
him. He asserts, however, that " youth will have its course." 
When will he die ? 

Amongst the numerous communications which throng our 
letter-box, with the reader's kind permission, we will subjoin 
the following, which, for majesty of thought and beauty of 
composition, we never saw surpassed. In mercy to the author 
we conceal his name : — 



EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 117 



" LINES BY A MAN IN LOYE. 
" I saw a girl on the Promenade, 

And thought I should like to speak to her, 
Bat blush' d so much I'm sure no ox 

Could ever have look'd clumsier. 

" I thought if I but knew her name 

A letter I might say I'd got ; 
And perhaps my figure might have induced her, 

If she was single, to change her lot. 

" If she's gone back no longer I'll star, 

But hunt her till I meet with her. 
My heart is broke I I'll either die, 

Or be off to the Peninsula !" 

We wish to goodness he would either do one or the other, and 
not bother us any more. We've heard from him three times. 

MEDICAL ADVICE. 

We have this week received numerous communications from 
various parts requesting our advice in several diseases. We 
therefore proceed to answer them : — 

Shrieker. — You say that you are affected with the gout, ' 
and that the pain in the great toe is enough to distract you. 
Cut it off. 

Expecter. — Your grandfather, we understand, is extremely 
feeble, and on the verge of the grave. Push him in. 

Mater. — You inform us you have tried everything, but 
cannot cure your child of the hooping-cough. Take it to see 
the Ojibbeway Indians, when the cough- whoop will change 
into a war-whoop ; let it then 'list for a drummer, and have 
done with it. 

Mourner. — You are dreadfully low in spirits. Go up in 
a balloon ; it may propably raise them. 

Slasher. — You say you are troubled with hypochondriaisra, 
and contemplate cutting your throat. Do it effectually. 

Ruby. — You complain that your child has got the scarlet 
fever. What on earth more do you want ? It's as pretty a 
colour as the child could wish for. 

Mottle. — The eruption you speak of we do not understand. 
You had better apply to Mount Vesuvius or iEtna, who are 
skilled in such diseases. 



118 EPITOME OP THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



Shiver. — We are sorry you have got cold. Keep yourself 
warm in future. 

Warbler. — You complain bitterly of a singing in your 
head. Wrap your feet in a ballad ; it may probably draw 
the singing downwards. 

Limper. — The bunions you speak of are no doubt trouble- 
some. Swallow the " Pilgrim's Progress." 

To Mothers in general. — W T hen your children are very 
cross, we beseech you not to torment the poor little sufferers by 
Godfrey's Cordial or Infants' Preservative; you had better 
pickle them at once. The safest and most effectual plan we 
know of is to place it upon a very uneasy seat with many 
projections and angles on it; the child will cry lustily for two 
minutes ; you then remove it and place it on a beautiful 
downy pillow, when the sudden transition from pain to ease 
will quieten it immediately. This is a simple remedy, and 
deserves a trial. We recommend it because we know it to be 
effectual. The child is good in mere gratitude for the relief; 
if not, it is unworthy of you, and the sooner you throw it 
in the water-tub the better. 

We shall proceed to answer the other interrogatories next 
week. 

TO THE METROPOLITAN EDITORS, 

Gentlemen — In answer to yours of the 17th instant, we 
regret to announce that the Overland Mail has not yet reached 
us, but we are expecting it every day, either by way of Euxton 
or St. Helen's, as everything appears to us to come that road. 
Upon the arrival of the despatches, after duly perusing the 
contents, we shall forward them to you, in order to satisfy 
the anxiety of your numerous readers. 

We remain, gentlemen, yours, very superior, 

The Southport Visiter. 

Saturday, July 19, 1845. 



FOURTH WEEK. 
A disturbance of a rather serious character took place near 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 119 



Blundeli's Buildings amongst the band which paraded our 
village on Tuesday last. The big drum, either through over- 
excitement or accident, thought proper to make a stroke with 
his baton at the head of the trombone, declaring that as one 
was as empty as the other, it was immaterial which he struck ; 
whilst the trombone, not liking to look behind, and wishing 
to retaliate on some one, pushed the tube of his instrument 
into the ear of the French horn who walked before him, aver- 
ring that as he had no ear for music, he might do equally as 
well without it. The French horn swore, and said he'd be 
bloived (which, by the by, was more than his instrument 
could be) if he'd stand it ; he declared he never knew a more 
brazen thing in his life, and appealed to the bassoon, who 
tried to be instrumental in restoring peace, but failing in the 
attempt, the clarionet squeaked out for a policeman. The 
discord was at its height — in vain Mr. Brown's very eloquent 
parrot called out, " Keep off the wall !" and " Get off with 
you" — the war raged hotter and hotter, when a policeman, 
furious as a tiger, was seen running to the scene of action. 
The shrewd band, however, remembering that " music hath 
charms to soothe the savage breast," struck up " See ! the 
conquering hero comes," when the man became as docile as 
a lamb, and marched by the side of them, no doubt ima- 
gining himself Sir Charles Shaw or the Duke of Wellington. 

Theatrical Intelligence. — The manager of the 
" Theatre, Southport," has, we understand, entered into an 
engagement with Mr. Macready and Miss Helen Faucit for a 
limited number of nights, yet he is not quite certain when 
they will arrive ; but most likely, as soon as they come. Mr. 
Macready will make his first appearance in the character of 
Hamlet, and the most dramatical pig in the village is to take 
the part of the ghost, for the very obvious reason that it 
" can a tail unfold." 

So powerful and strong is the gunpowder tea in the esta- 
blishment of Mr. K , that in the event of any serious war 

taking place it will be at once adopted by the British navy. 

The Ionic Pillar.— With respect to this beautiful piece 
of architecture, we regret to state, in answer to numerous 



120 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



inquiries, that we cannot satisfactorily trace its origin. We 
have read of many pillars : there was the Pillar of Salt in 
Sodom ; the Pillar of Fire in the Wilderness ; the Trajan 
Pillar at Rome ; Nelson's Pillar in London ; and all we can 
say is, that there is the Ionic Pillar at the corner of Nevill- 
street. We believe also that many marble pillars are to be 
seen in Greece, particularly near to Corinth, but they lie 
horizontally, like the debris of mouldered palaces ; and as 
the tourist sits to rest on them, and muses on their faded 
grandeur, in like manner, long after our poor clay is con- 
signed to its primeval dust, some foreign wanderer will sit on 
the Ionic Pillar, as it lies near Mr. Welsby's office, and 
exclaim, " On this great monument once stood the form 
of Major-General Jump or Lord Lieutenant Rigby !" — little 
dreaming that tea-kettles and pagodas were once in contem- 
plation. 

A most respectable gentleman (who, we are sorry to say, is 
very mad indeed) walking up Sea-bank-road, the other day, 
had the misfortune to be bitten by a dog. Now, which will 
have the hydrophobia, should it supervene? We should be 
glad to have this query answered. 

So delightful and sweet are the veal pies in the establish- 
ment of Mrs. F , that two calves entered the premises, 

the other day, to look at them. The senior calf was asto- 
nished to find the flesh of his ancestors so honourably interred, 
arid the junior one confessed that he was no cow-ard, and 
would willingly die to be consigned to the family vault; whilst 
the elder concluded the subject by saying that he would not 
mince the matter, but there and then enter into the pie, 

and not look crusty on the subject. Mrs. F , however, 

with her usual sweetness of expression and willingness to 
please, assured them that it was a tender point, and they 
had better think more on the subject ; they accordingly 
assented, leaving their cards, and informing her that at any 
time they were ripe and ready for the sacrifice. 

The Life Boat. — The capabilities of thi3 magnificent 
boat were tested on Wednesday morning last. She lay 
majestically on the water, cocking her two noses up as if they 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 121 



wanted blowing. She reminded us forcibly of a human being. 
Her heart was the captain, which is made of oak ; her nerves 
were the ropes, which were well braced up ; her lungs were in 
the seats, and were well inflated; her windpipe was the mast ; 
and her stomach was the locker, which was well filled with 
provisions, and no doubt pretty well digested ; her keel was 
the spine, with the ribs attached to it, not one of which was 
fractured. Her complexion, we thought, was rather sickly ; 
but as she had been laid up a long time by disease, we are not 
so much astonished. We understand, however, she bears an 
excellent colour at the mast-head. A numerous party of 
individuals filled her with water, and tried to sink her, but it 
would not go down with her ; she nearly capsized them all, 
and the saucy hussy, impudently putting her anchor to her 
nose, insinuated, " Don't you wish," &c, and rode away in 
triumph to her home. We beg to compliment Lieutenant 
Kellock on the very able and seaman-like manner in which he 
has completed her ; and if ever grim death should meet him 
on the ocean wave, may the boat he has so fondly dwelt upon 
appear to save him. 

So remarkably fine has been the growing zceather of late, 

that Mr. on rising the other morning discovered 

that all his beautiful little watches had sprung up into young 
clocks. 



MEDICAL ADVICE. 

To the correspondents who remained unanswered last week, 
we tender the following remarks : — 

Dolor. — You inform us you can find no remedy for the 
tic doloreux. You had better go and stay at the Clifton Arms, 
in Lytham ; you will have no tick whatever there. 

Pimple. — The stye upon your eye-lid is beneath our notice. 
We advise you to apply to a pig, who is more accustomed to 
such things. 

Rash. — We are sorry to hear your eldest child has got the 
chicken-pox. It is certainly a fowl disease. You had better 
consult a hen upon the subject, and we will lay you a couple 
of eggs the child recovers. 



122 EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 



Avis. — We understand your child has got the thrush. So 
much the better : " a bird in the hand is worth two in the 
bush. ,, 

Pompous. — You tell us that a great deal of proud flesh is 
growing on the wound you lately received. You had better 
humble yourself as much as possible. 

Cripple. — You are afflicted with a stiffness in the knee. 
Take it to, a, free-and-easy club. 

Sttjltus. — You tell us you are labouring under the brain 
fever. We very much doubt it. 

Puppy. — You wish to make us believe you are short-sighted. 
It's all my eye. You want to wear an eye-glass. 

Gruff. — We recommend you to mend your orthography 
a little more. We don't know what you mean by saying you 
have a horseness. If so, you had better swallow a jackass. 

Reeler. — You need not complain so much about the 
swimming in your head ; you will always be able to keep it 
above ivater. 

Buoy. — You request to know what are the best means to 
be adopted in cases of drowning. The best plan is to get the 
person out of the water as speedily as possible. 

Should any more questions be put to us, we shall be most 
happy to answer them next week, as we are extremely anxious 
to mitigate the sufferings of our fellow-creatures. 

The writer of this intelligence begs to state, that, having to 
leave Southport by the Liverpool mail in time to see a friend 
hung in London, he is not able to write any more. 



Saturday, July 26, 1845. 



FIFTH WEEK. 



On Saturday last, just about dinner hour, a very startling 
announcement occasioned the public to rest upon their knives 
and forks, and fly with loaded mouths up the steps of the 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEY.'S. 123 



lodge on the Promenade " for the low charge of one penny." 
It was to witness the " wonder of the world" — not the Great 
Wizard of the North, but the Great Britain steam-ship, which 
was about to perform (we trust not for the last time) in this 
country. The exhibition, we understand, did not take so well 
as was expected, the stage being situated rather too distant 
from the audience ; the manager, however, very kindly con- 
sented to give glasses round ; but even this failed to bring up 
the spirit of the piece. The whole of the performance was 
for the benefit of the proprietor, who, being a clever actor, 
would no doubt meet with the reward he merits. 

Literary Review.— Ablution ; or, the Bather's Ma- 
nual. By Demosthenes Jump. London : Longman, Rees, 
Orme, Brown, Green, and Longmans. — In our notice of this 
work, it is not our object to criticise what is really meritorious, 
for certainly there are many passages of excellent conception 
for which we give him all due praise ; but we regret that we 
should be compelled to differ in toto with the system which 
he advocates in bathing. We will just quote a few sentences 
at random. Tn vol. X., page 1962, he thus writes : — " The 
machine door being thrown open, you at once seize the lady, 
and souse her over head." Now, we confess, this is not ac- 
cording to our ideas of bathing. To seize a lady implies a 
roughness that even the sea itself could not equal ; but to souse 
her overhead is barbarous. Jump ought to know this. The 
mode to be adopted is, to assist the lady from the machine as 
though she were stepping from her carriage, and having taken 
her hand or hands with a gentle yet determined pressure, you 
suffer the lady to fall back as in the act of swooning. Her 
heart then beats with the liveliest pleasure, which will be per- 
ceptible through the blue flannel gown. We contend, sir, 
that you have no right whatever to interfere with the lady's 
head ; it is her pleasure (not yours) whether she suffers her 
beautiful hair to be defiled by salt water or not ; the chances 
are that she will ; and it is then that visions of sweetest water 
nymphs or naiads will float before her, and she will lay upon 
the water like an ocean child. It is thus you should proceed. 
Jump then goes on to say that " When she has done bathing, 



124 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



she is to be put into the machine, and rubbed well, and to 
drive on" Now, this is truly horrible ! The only idea we can 
associate with it is that of a horse in the stable under the 
hostler's hands. Jump is very much at fault here — very. To 
rub a lady ! He might as well talk of scrubbing one ! The 
mode of adoption is, to first assist her in ascending the steps 
of the machine — not to put her in, as you would an old coat 
into a drawer, or something of that kind — but having seen 
her safely enclosed, the female attendant receives her with 
open arms, gently wiping away the briny drops, which seem 
sorrowful to leave her, and then encasing her in a delicious 
warm blanket, which has been so preserved around a metallic 
vessel of boiling water; the warmth of the surface instantly 
returns ; the lady comfortably finishes her toilet, as in her own 
tiring-room, and then insinuates, by a gentle knock, that she is 
prepared to be drawn from the watery element. This is the 
correct mode of proceeding. In the last place Jump says — 
" Let her then take two hours of brisk exercise" Detestable! 
Had he been speaking of a donkey, he could not have articu- 
lated coarser language. A lady to take brisk exercise ! — 
revolting! No, sir! On alighting from the machine, the 
lover, with smiling features and extended arms, is there to 
meet her ; they pace the shore in sweet converse ; the heart 
beats with rapture ; the beautiful warm glow of an equal cir- 
culation irradiates the countenance ; and, however serious may 
have been the disease, a permanent recovery is the result. We 
consider these extracts sufficient proof of our assertions. 

Education. — The midsummer vacation being now over, 
and the fairies having done with the Ionic Pillar, we beg most 
respectfully to announce that our " Academy for the Educa- 
tion of Young Ladies" is now open. It is held at the corner 
of Nevill-street, generally after midnight, as silence is con- 
sidered more conducive to study. Having already been 
favoured with the care of several delightful young pupils, we 
will at once call our class together, and commence our even- 
ing's lesson with the " History of England " :— My dearest 
young pupils, in laying before your eyes the deeds and actions 
of your forefathers— (Silence, ladies!)— it is my intention, 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 125 



first, to throw the Saxons and Danes overboard entirely, as 
being unnecessary to the thread of my discourse — (No, Miss 
Ringlet ; I do not mean sewing thread, but the connection of 
events) — and I shall, therefore, first speak of William the 
Conqueror. (Miss Giggle, do lift your frock more over your 
shoulders, and sit straight.) Now, between you and I and 
the Pillar, William was not exactly what he should be. What 
I have to instil into your young minds is, that he was a foreign 
invader from Normandy, who, having killed Harold at the 
battle of Hastings, was crowned king of England. (No, Miss 
Prim ; Harold was not a donkey ; you are thinking of Albert. 
Do pay a little more attention.) He speedily reduced all his 
subjects to submission, and, fancying himself secure, went 
back to enjoy himself on the Continent. (Miss Hairpin, what 
space of time do you generally occupy in blowing your nose ? 
You're a disturbance to the whole class.) But, my sweetest 
of pupils, the peace of poor William was but of short duration. 
(No — not something like the holidays, Miss Slink.) He had 
three sons — Robert, William, and Henry; and Robert was 
called Curthose, from the shortness of his legs. (No, Miss 
Quiz ; it is impossible for me to explain why his legs were 
short, any more than I can explain why yours are long.) 
But certain it is, that his sons rebelled against him, and 
filled his last days with bitterness. (When I say "bitter- 
ness," Miss Ringlet, I do not make reference to chamomile 
tea, as you seem to think, but to trouble and anxiety.) Now, 
Robert's legs being very short, he was continually annoyed by 
his brothers, who took a delight in teasing him, in the same 
manner as you tease Miss Bristle for having a moustache on 
her upper lip — (No, Miss Bristle, I do not mean to infer that 
you want shaving. Don't give yourself so many airs) — and 
one day, whilst playing together, they took it into their heads 
to throw water upon Robert as he passed through the court 
on leaving their apartment. (Dear ! — Miss Ringlet, what a 
girl you are ! How can I tell whether it was Eau de Cologne 
or Lavender Water ! You're the most wicked girl in the 
class ! do sit still.) Now, this put Bob into a terrible rage ; 
he drew his sword, and, chasing them up stairs, swore he 
would be revenged. Even his father (the king) could not 



126 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



reconcile him ; he seemed bent upon mischief. (Bless me, 
Miss Curling, how ridiculous you are ! When I say "mischief," 
of course I do not mean pinning a dishcloth to his father's 
coat, or pulling his chair away when he sat down.) No ; he 
actually withdrew that very night to Rouen with several con- 
federates, hoping to surprise the castle, but was defeated by 
the governor. (I saw you winking, Miss Flash ; you forfeit 
five tickets.) But to proceed. This fiery fellow Robert 
raised a complete rebellion in France against his father ; 
and what made the matter worse, was, that his own mother 
backed him on to do so. (Mamma is certainly more proper 
in domestic life, Miss Lovely ; but in warfare we generally 
use more powerful language.) William (the king) therefore 
thought it best to govern, which he did, and soon quelled the 
rebellion, but was exceedingly wrath on hearing, when poorly 
one day, that Philip, the king of France, had said that he 
only lay in bed in consequence of being so very stout. (No, 
Miss Dunce — F does not stand for Philip, but P.) He (the 
king) therefore sent a note to Philip, intimating that he should 
soon be up, and that the next time he went to church he 
would raise such a number of tapers as would set the kingdom 
of France in a flame. (Fire-engines ! What nonsense, Miss 
Waterhouse ; you ought to be aware there were none then ; 
and do keep your fingers out of your ears.) He was as good 
as his word. He recovered, and took the town of Mante, 
burning all the houses and villages without opposition. But, 
my dear young ladies, " in the midst of life we are in death ;" 
— (No, Miss W T hitlow ; the dead man did not say so to the 
worms. Wherever did you pick up such vulgarity?) — for his 
horse, placing his fore feet on some hot ashes, plunged so vio- 
lently that poor Billy was completely pommelled, and made 
himself scarce in consequence. He died September the 9th, 
1087. Now, what on earth occasion is there for you to set up 
a round of applause ? The circumstance of a man's death 
should make you weep. (No, Miss Brine; not crocodile's 
tears.) And who, I should like to know, has pinned my 
coat-tail to the chair ? It's that girl Ringlet, She's the most 
impudent hussy in the whole class ; but I'll be even with her 
some time. Well, now, my dear young companions, as day-* 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS, 127 



light is almost breaking, you had better go home. (What !— 
you don't want to go ?) Indeed you'd better, as I shall have 
to walk you all down to the shore in the morning, rank and 
file ! Good night ! good night ! We shall meet again next 
week, 

Ionic Academy, corner of Nevill-street, Terms per week, 
without board — Threepence* 



THEATRE ROYAL, SOUTHPORT. 

The public is respectfully informed that on Monday next 
her Majesty's servants will perform an entirely new melo- 
drama, (in twelve acts,) of overwhelming interest, entitled 

THE BOMBAY BANDIT'S BLACK WIFE; 

OR, 

The AngeVs WhUpdr, 

written by the late Courvoisier, the murderer of Lord William 
Russell, the night before his execution. Principal characters 
by the principal performers, 

Count Karvengneif . . Mr. Augustus Leopold Montague, 
Peitchforcq. . . .Mr. Lindsay Courtnay Camperdown. 
At the fall of the curtain, Mr. Nightingale will sing " The 
Hailstone Chorus," assisted by the whole strength of the 
company. 

Song — "Don't I love my mother !". .Miss Dove. 
The Highland Fling by Mr. MacDougal, who will throw a 
child with superhuman force amongst the audience without 
injuring it. 

The whole to conclude with the favourite farce of 

THE BLUE-EYED MULATTO; 

Or, the Squinting Spirit of the Deep Blue Waters. 

The proceeds are for the benefit of the Rural Sports, which 
will take place whenever they begin. 

Prices of admission — Optional ; but no credit given. 
Saturday, August 2, 1845. 



128 EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 



SIXTH WEEK. 

The Promenade. — We are almost ashamed that so many 
weeks have passed over without once saying a word respecting 
this splendid marine lounge. Its beauties are infinite. The 
visiter to these shores will be gratified the most by first in- 
quiring for the Ionic Pillar, which in itself is sufficient to com- 
pensate for the expense of a three weeks* residence in South- 
port. On arriving at the Pillar, the visiter will be struck at 
once with the architectural beauties it presents, and at the 
same time Nevill-street, with all its glittering palaces, mosques, 
domes, and minarets, bursts upon him like eternal Rome. 
There Albert House erects its proud head towards heaven, and 
Hampson's Terrace, like some vast fortress, bidding defiance 
to a world of armies, lies bathed at sunset in the slanting 
beams, as would some haughty chieftains in a flood of glory. 
Arabian steeds, in costliest trappings and richly caparisoned, 
prancing and pirouetting with their riders, ravish the be- 
wildered eye ; whilst collateral streets of marble mansions (and 
one the dwelling of the CaBsars), almost erase from memory 
your intended visit to the Promenade. On arriving, half- 
enchanted, at the end of Nevill-street, a stupendous obelisk, 
of the Doric order, reveres the memory of the Trajan Pillar, 
or the monument in London — so vast in altitude that the 
higher you look upwards for the apex, the less likely you will 
be to see it. It is here, however, that Nevill-street branches 
into two roads — the left conducting you past the Salthouserian 
Catacombs, where spirits are said to meet; which having 
passed, you walk beneath the Bridge of Sighs, and the un- 
bounded ocean, with countless ships and anchored navies, for 
the defence of Meols, burst upon you, depriving you of what 
little recollection you possessed of your mortality. We advise 
the tourist, however, here to pause, and cast one lingering 
look at Nevill-street, and, whilst he contemplates its ma- 
jesty in rapture, the mournful recollection still breathes forth 
the truth that — 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 129 



The cloud-capt towers— the gorgeous palaces — 
The solemn temples — the great globe itself— 
Yea, all who it inherit, shall dissolve, 
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
Leave not a wreck behind !— Shakspere. 

After fully meditating on a fact so sorrowful, he will then pass 
on, and. take the dexter path, and after traversing a small 
ascent, the summit finds him on the Promenade. Oh, how 
glorious ! There stands the box of Caesar ! the mighty Colos- 
seum ! 

"While stands the box of Caesar, Southport stands !— Byron. 
How vast its huge octagonal dimensions! How awful the 
gigantic ball which crowns it ! St. Paul's comes back to us ; 
We half inquire if love or money will admit us. We enter ; 
and the antiquarian spirit swells within us. 

Treasures immense— beyond earth's richest gems !— Jump. 
There stands the trumpet kings might tremble at ! — the mighty 
mouthpiece rescued from the field of Blenheim ! — the ancient 
tinder-box Darius lit his pipe with! — the emancipating 
cheques which free the day ! — the everlasting pennyworth ! — 
the flaunting flag, furled up, 

Which braved a thousand years 

The battle and the breeze.— Song. 

There, from the fretted ceiling, hangs a hat — glazed, bright, 
and beautiful ; the hat which once adorned Pope Gregory 
VI. Around its walls antique inscriptions of the richest elo- 
quence bespeak the wonders of departed genius j and whilst 
the gazer rests upon the desk wherein repose the archives of 
the ancients, the eye perceives, through countless panes of 
orbicular stained grass, the interminable range of ground for 
mortal pastime. On leaving the Caesarian Colosseum, the 
Public Baths, with their stupendous sun-dial standing forth 
in beautiful relief, engage every sparkle of the eye ; " the 
fountains of ablution!" — those waters, so immaculate! — 
Virginian streams ! — 

Angels might wash their snowy wings more pure!— Ball. 
Rich colonnades, and countless pilasters — cupolas — Hespe- 
rian walks, on which rise up those thrones of grandeur for the 
weary ; the great Ark itself might have cast anchor here. 



130 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



Where is Mount Ararat now ? What got the Ark ? We have 
no record ! Perchance it hath grown modern, and is here : 
the rays of ancient glory still lingering on the Promenade ! 

Whatever became of the wreck of the Ark ? 

She was run on the shore, or went down in the dark. — Rigby. 

But the life-boat got out ; she was damaged so ill 

That Lloyd could not sell her, and here she is still !— Bolton. 

And thus is traced the genealogy of the Baths. But to our 
task. On turning to the left, the palace of Victoria rears its 
head ; its alabaster walls look pure and lovely in the sunlight; 
there, in Olympic casks, the nectar of the gods reposes, and 
Manchesteric, Boltonic, and Wiganic heroes go to quaff it. 
A little further to the left, kind reader, and a range of sombre 
and lugubrious-looking mansions take your notice : your 
heart half fails you, so terrific is their frown. These are the 
work of Pluto ; their portals standing forth in flames of fire; 
the dungeons of Hades — dark, gloomy, melancholy. The dog 
Cerberus sits near them with three heads, and his body is 
covered in a terrible manner with snakes instead of hairs. 
This is the porter, begotten of Echidna by the giant Typhon, 
and who is described by Virgil and Horace. Avoid these 
places, dearest reader, and pass onward to the house of 
Claremont. 

There Charlton lifts his haughty head to heaven. — Albert. 
Here lie the luxuries of life — the paradise of revelry — the 
generous port — the charitable sherry. It is here Prince Rim- 
mer took his quarters, and, fixing high his standard on the 
battlements, defied the King of Lytham. 

Hail, glorious Rimmer of Meolic birth !— Milton. 
One mighty edifice remains, and we have done — the Lodge : 
the crown-piece of the southern terminus. There, steps of 
tesselated workmanship, like an Egyptian Pyramid, conduct 
you to the summit ; beneath you, in the setting sun, lie 
stretched the wearied warriors by their chargers, reposing in 
glory after the many engagements of the day ; whilst girls of 
most angelic loveliness hang over them. The Mount, upon 
your left, delights you with its rich Masonic beauty ; and to 
the right the concave slope (on which you may not trespass), 
embellished by a vista of connecting chains and pillars, shows 



EPITOME OP THE VILLAGE NEWS. 131 



forth in stern defiance the frontiers of the Promenade. And 
now, kind reader, as Alexander wept when he had no more 
worlds to conquer, prepare your tears for the announcement, 
that when your eyes have gazed upon these scenes of grandeur, 
you have no more scenes of grandeur in this wide world to 
behold. 

Awful and Terrific Insurrection of Bells. — The 
greatest excitement now prevails amongst the different bells 
and belfries, on account of the last bulletin issued respecting 
the health of Peter's bell, which is not so encouraging - } for, 
owing to the very paralysing stroke which it has lately receiv- 
ed, inflammation of a very angry character has supervened; 
the consequence of which is, that adhesions have formed be- 
tween the clapper and the sides of the bell ; and it is now 
tongue-tied. An operation is thus rendered necessary ; and, 
however formidable it may be, we understand many sharp 
blades will undertake to do it. Although the bell is seriously 
indisposed, it has sworn to be revenged, and will arise on 
Wednesday next, well muffled up, and call on its friend the 
Old Church bell, and there take tea, when merry peals of 
laughter will echo through the belfry and delight the village 
belles, who, no doubt, will be listening with attentive ears. 
The music will be irresistible. The bells of the Catholic 
Chapel were politely invited, but declined the invitation, 
stating that as they had no apartments to which they could 
invite them back again, they had better stay at home, but 
expressed their determination of chiming in with the music 
of the evening. The New Church bell can scarcely hold its 
tongue, declaring that no gag shall be put upon it. It swears 
it is a bell of metal (which we believe), and that in the event 
of any insult being offered to its friend St. Peter's bell, it will 
strike the offender to the ground, and applaud it to the echo. 
Now, there's some spirit in this bell, which we hope the rest 
will emulate ; and we believe a general rising is to take place 
on Wednesday evening next, when the signal will be given by 
the Old Church bell ; Peter will then rush forward ; the 
Catholic and New Church bells will join him ; all the bells of 
the different hotels will press onward to the charge; the 



132 EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 



boots', the hostler's, chambermaid's, waiter's, &c., &c. — the 
bells of all the lodging-houses will ring their 'larums in the 
field ; and every knocker in the place will pour forth its thun- 
der of artillery at the enemy. A detachment of the 15th In- 
fantry, armed with timbrels and tiiangles, is expected to 
oppose them ; but this, with dreadful slaughter, will be swept 
away. Kettles, frying*pans, saucepans, and gridirons, are 
visible upon the heights of Churchtown, Lytham, Blackpool, 
Fleetwood, and far beyond them; hammers are heard, with 
furious clangour, resounding on the anvils to be prepared for 
action ; clocks (American and French) are striking six-and- 
thirty hours a-day in paroxysms of revenge; trombones, bas- 
soons, French horns, and Jews' harps are practising the sound 
of bells ; ladies' fingers, like wildest lightning, are rattling 
over the keys of their pianos for the charge ; water-spouts are 
trickling their contents into the tub to imitate a tinkling ; the 
Ojibbeway Indians are expected with their yells ; and such a 
brazen rising will be seen as never more, we hope, will devas- 
tate the village. We trust that the slaughter may not be so 
great a3 is anticipated 5 but so grievous are the injuries of the 
bells, we fear but little quarter will be given. On that evening 
we advise our friends to keep within doors, or, at all events, 
at a respectable distance ; and to warn them of all danger we 
announce that it is to take place at half-past seven o'clock 
precisely, when the armies will be drawn up in front of the 

Rotunda, and what will follow we shudder to . But 

let us draw the curtain. 

Education. — The moon is up ; the stars shine bright and 
beautiful ; the inhabitants are fast asleep ; the donkey-boy 
hath sought his rest ; the Pillar smiles upon us ; and now, my 
sweetest and most promising young ladies, we will call our 
class together. Believe me, I have thought much about you 
since we last met ; I have treasured the remembrance of you 
all with a father's love ; and now I will endeavour, with your 
fair permission, to instil once more into your juvenile minds 
those principles of morality which I so strictly advocate. 
(Miss Ringlet, you never saw me winking at a donkey-girl; 
it was the Pillar. I abominate such rudeness. You are 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 133 



really too bad.) You will remember, then, that we last week 
buried William the Conqueror. ( You never saw the funeral, 
Miss Crape ! Well, I drew no inference that you did. My 
meaning is that our discourse of him is finished.) We will now 
speak of his son and successor, William Rufus, who was so 
called from the colour of his hair., (No, Miss Ruby— I do 
not mean to make any allusion whatever to yours, though I 
must confess that, considering the long time you have been 
in Southport, it should be sandy now.) Concerning William, 
I shall say but little. He was a poor, weak monarch, and 
did not behave well to his brother Robert. (Yes — he with 
the short legs, Miss Ringlet. I am glad you pay a little 
more attention.) The principal feature in the reign of Rufus 
was the projection of the first crusade by Peter — (No, not 
Peter the Bellman, Miss Tinkle) — Peter the Hermit, a native 
of Amiens. (Amiens is not in North Meols, Miss Atlas, but 
in France.) He made a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre at 
Jerusalem, and beheld with indignation how the Christians 
were treated by the Infidels. (Miss Pallor, do hold your 
head up. What ? You don't feel quite well 1 No wonder • 
that's the third pound of gelatine lozenges you've eaten this 
week.) Thousands flocked to his standard — (No ; by " flock" 
I do not mean sheep, Miss Ringlet. How satirical you grow ! 
I mean warriors of all descriptions)— and sold their estates to 
join the enterprise; and William (the king), I can assure 
you, made a capital thing by it. (Yes, quite equal to railway 
speculations, Miss Train.) However, a very unhappy ch> 
cumstance put an end to his life ; he was shot by an arrow — 
(No; not from Cupid, Miss Love (you make me blush!), but 
from Sir Walter Tyrrel) — whilst hunting in the New Forest, 
which, glancing from a tree, struck the king in the heart, 
and he dropped dead instantly. (Why did it serve him right, 
Miss Flint ? He couldn't help his hair being red. If you 
don't fancy men of his description, others may. Oh ! oh ! 
By Jupiter ! Confound it ! Who, for goodness sake, has 
stuck a pin into my chair ? I'll not sit down again. Oh ! if 
I could but get hold of that girl Ringlet, peeping round the 
corner of Upper Willow Cottage, wouldn't I give it her !) 
But come — we must not let daylight find us idle ; and we 



134 EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 



will now gallop on to Henry the First — (No, not at the rate 
of sixpence an hour, Miss Hunt) — who was the late king's 
brother. He was called Beauclerc, from his great attention to 
learning. (Like you, indeed, Miss Ringlet! Well, I like 
that !) He married Matilda, who was bred in a convent, and 
was very fond of novels. (Jack Sheppard! Who ever heard 
of such absurdity, Miss Blueskin ? The work is not five 
years old yet.) She was the niece of Edgar Atheling ; and 
by this union the Saxon part of the community were recon- 
ciled to each other. However, Robert (his brother) grew 
quarrelsome again — (Yes — the short-legged gentleman, Miss 
Ringlet) — for which he was imprisoned twenty-eight years in 
the Castle of Glamorgan. (Don't put your face quite so close 
to mine, Miss Lovely ; it might be dangerous, especially 
when I tell you that poor Robert was deprived of his sight by 
a red-hot copper basin being applied to his eyes — (Yes, Miss 
Green — a green shade would certainly have been better) — to 
atone for which his brother founded the Abbey of Reading. 
(No, Miss Quiz ; it was not the property of Miss S — f — d.) 
At last, however, he died broken-hearted in consequence of 
his son being shipwrecked on his passage home from Harfleur, 
where he went to be recognised by the barons. (Why didn't 
they get the life-boat out ? Miss Buoy, you'd better ask Miss 
Lloyd; and do leave off biting your nails.) A butcher 
of Rouen was the only person who escaped. (No, Miss Tease ; 
it was not Mr. D — h — t, or B — n — 1 either, but a Frenchman. 
Miss Cross, do not sit that way, with your legs tucked up 
like a tailor. When speaking of kings and queens you ought 
to feel a little more majesty about you.) Fitz-Stephen, the 
captain, swam up to the butcher, and inquired if the prince 
lived. (Dear me ! The idea of a man presenting his card, 
Miss Chesterfield ! How could he in such a critical situation ?) 
On hearing, however, that the prince had perished, Fitz- 
Stephen exclaimed, " Then I will not outlive him V 9 and sank 
to the bottom. (I know that you did not expect he sank to 
the top, Miss Ringlet. How quick yoa grow !) The poor 
king never smiled again, but died shortly afterwards at St. 
Dennis, from eating too freely of lampreys. ( What are lam- 
preys, did you say, Miss Quiz ? A dish he was particularly 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 135 



fond of; and that's all I know about them. I caught you 
winking, Miss Eyelid. You forfeit ten tickets. Who's stolen 
my pocket-handkerchief? Oh! here it is, pinned to my 
coat. Ringlet again !) The next monarch who ascended the 
throne was Stephen, and he was a mere jackass; and that's 
all you need know about him. After him came Henry II., 
who was a very fine fellow. (I don't know, Miss Bristle, 
whether he had whiskers or not ; neither have I heard that 
he wore an eye-glass.) In his reign lived the famous Thomas-a- 
Beckett, whom the king raised from a clerk in the city to 
be Archbishop of Canterbury. (No, Miss Hairpin ; you 
never heard of Beckett and his Cat; you are thinking of 
Whittington.) He, however, became very insolent to the 
king, and had his brains knocked out in consequence whilst 
kneeling at the altar of St. Benedict; which brains were 
picked up immediately, and are to this day preserved in the 
Meolic Museum at Church town. (What's that you said, Miss 
Fib ? You saw them as you passed through by the Euxton 
coach ? Thank you !) Now, this murder was no doubt com- 
mitted at the instigation of the king — (Where's your pocket- 
handkerchief, Miss Snuffle ?) — who, fearing that his subjects 
might blame him for it, commenced an expedition against 
Ireland, and conquered it— -(Whatever do you mean by Paddy 
Whack, Miss Whitlow ? Avoid such vulgarity !) — A.D. 1172. 
But now we come to a beautiful part of the history. (Go-a- 
head then ! Dear Miss Bowsprit, that's shocking — very ; but 
it's just like you !) King Henry was such a nice, genteel 
young man, and so attentive to the ladies, that, between you 
and I and the Pillar, the ladies loved him. (I really cannot 
tell the colour of his hair, Miss Quiz ; but some imagine it 
to have been a blueish pink.) However, I am bound to con- 
fess that he was a married man — (What ? You're not parti- 
cular ? Well, I never saw such an inveterate lot in all my 
life !) ; so he cut Queen Eleanor — poor thing ! — and paid his 
addresses to Rosamond Clifford. Oh, such a beauty ! (Yes — 
equal to Dolly Wrexford, Miss Hearty.) She was called Fair 
Rosamond ; and Henry used to conceal her in a labyrinth in 
Woodstock Park, in order that Eleanor might not hear of 
her. (Bravo, Henry i Silence, Miss Crow ! You're not at 



136 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



the theatre ; and, for goodness sake, do leave your ears alone.) 
However, by a singular circumstance, she discovered the 
retreat. (Just sit a little farther off, ladies; I'm almost 
smothered ; and, Miss Ringlet, please keep your arm off my 
shoulder — will you ?) She discovered it by a clue of silk 
which guided her to the very spot where poor Rosamond was 
sitting — (Your back hair is all down, Miss Lock ; put it up — 
will you ?) — and, holding a drawn dagger to her breast, she 
made her swallow poison. Poor Rosamond ! (Wipe that 
tear off your nose, Miss Brine.) Henry's sons, however, 
rebelled against him — (Oh, by Hercules ! Miss Angel, you've 
trod on my corn. Them little feet of yours are sharp as 
razors. Just be careful — will you ?) ; and he died broken- 
hearted, after doing penance for his sins, in the 58th year of 
his age and the 35th of his reign : and so " the best friends 
must part." (No, Miss Whitlow ; the rat did not say so to his 
tail when he left it in the trap. Do avoid such vulgar similes.) 
And now, for this week, we will close our studies, and go 
home. What ? You want to have a lark first ? Well, sup- 
pose we just ring Mr. Welsby's bell, and then fly. I'm sure 
he'd never be sharp enough for such quick solicitors as you. 
What ? You want to have a dance round the Pillar ? Very 
well. Hush ! — what noise was that ? Oh, it's only Mr. K — 
grinding his coffee ; so we'll dance to the music, and make a 
Handel of him. One more turn round ; and now we're off! 
Good night ! good night ! Don't forget we meet next Satur- 
day ; and remember that we walk on the shore on Monday 
morning at half-past eleven precisely. 

Ionic Academy, corner of Nevill-street. Terms per week, 
without board — Threepence. 

EASY POETRY. 
The night was fine ; my supper I had got, 

Which did me good — and so it ought to do ; 
I seiz'd my hat ; I did not care a jot 

For anything — nor do I care for you ; 
I went outside the gate, and look'd about — 

I'd nothing else to do that I could see ; 
My mother knew full well that I was out — 

Or if she didn't, what was that to me ? 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 137 



I lean'd against the palings, I expect — 

At least I mostly do— and there 1 smok'd 
A mild cigar with very good effect ; 

And once more down the street I think I look'd. 
I heard a clock strike twelve, or something there- 

About, I think. I nearly felt half dead ; 
And as I couldn't find an easy-chair, 

I went in-doors again ; and so— to bed. 



Low and depressed in spirits, and worn out with ennui 
(rather Frenchy !), we were lounging against the Ionic Pillar, 
bewailing our numerous losses, and just contemplating, if a 
policeman passed, whether we should be taken up for rogues 
or vagabonds, when we cast our eyes upwards, and the follow- 
ing lines unconsciously escaped our lips : — 

Oh ! what are we doing 1 We are nearly asleep ; 
We've nothing to laugh at, and yet we can't weep, 
We hare neither a smile, or a tear in the eye, 
And we're just in that state when 'tis better to die. 

On the cold Promenade we like simpletons stand, 
With our hands in our pockets, and think it so grand ; 
If a ship passes by, her success we deplore, 
And pray, for a change, she may come on the shore ; 

(Oh ! is it not wicked such feelings to cherish ?) 
But if she don't, we must most assuredly perish ; 
For we've nothing to stir up the life in our hearts, 
For our property lies in unsearchable parts. 

For ourselves, we're the scions of Poverty's daughter, 
And some cannot pay for the rent of their water ; 
Yet we talk of regattas, and such things as these 
But, alas ! the subscription is not at its ease. 

The fact is, for wealth we are not a good sample, 
But we'd all do our best if we had our example ; 
With row-boats and horses,— hurrah for the race ! 
Oh ! for some amusement that's worthy the place ! 

For ourselves, we're no adepts at boating or shipping, 
But in treacle 'tis sweet to see donkey-boys dipping ; 
And who would not pay for the excellent joke 
To see, not a pig, but a man, in a poke ? 



138 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



Besides, ev'ry mind on the subject now made is ; 
We should meet with the smiles of the sweetest of ladies ; 
One night from " the fairies " we managed to pillage 
They would all do their best for the sport of the village. 

We're sure we should have, as the old saying goes, 
Both rings on our fingers and bells on our toes, 
Fal lal de ral lal ! My cigar is just out ! 
Why, J , what have we been singing about ? 

But as neither my friend nor I could tell, we went away home. 



Saturday, August 9, 1845, 



SEVENTH WEEK. 

Camera Obscura. — The wonders of light and shade are 
powerfully exhibited in this most ingeniously-constructed 
optical illusion. It not only faithfully depicts the passing 
scenes of Southport, but likewise those of Lytham, Blackpool, 
Fleetwood, and Cheltenham — particularly the latter place. 
We entered it the other day, beneath the favouring auspices of 
Mr. Lawson, and the first sight we beheld was Jump in the 
act of sousing a lady overhead, according to the system recom- 
mended in his last new work ; but we were delighted to see 
he had perused our notice of it, for he used a gracefulness in 
the performance never seen before. The next we beheld was 
Bolton, with a face whiter than his own vans, flying, like 
Mazeppa, on a bony bathing-horse to rescue a lady from a 
machine, that had been inadvertently left all night at low- 
water. She was rescued ; but death is preferable to serious 
mutilation ; a more incomplete specimen of humanity we 
never witnessed. The fishes, envious of her beauty, in the 
ocean, had actually effected an entrance into the machine, and 
taken off three quarters of the left leg; ditto from the right; 
three fingers off the right hand (ring as well) ; ditto from the 
left; half an elbow ; three quarters of a shoulder ; the whole 
of the nose, and one of the eyes. Poor woman ! she is still 
living, for which she is thankful, but at the same time is in- 



EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 139 



clined to the belief that sea-bathing does not agree with her. 
The next was a very pleasing sight, for so magical are the 
powers of the Camera, that we positively saw the inside of a 
lady's heart ; and she was in love. We are therefore capable 
of defining what love is. In the middle of the heart, all 
amongst the auricles and ventricles, lay a little Cupid, not 
bigger than your thumb nail — (pretty little fellow !) ; — he had 
delicate little arrows, fine as hairs, with which he kept tick- 
ling the inside of the heart, and we saw that the eyes of the 
lady sparkled simultaneously. On a sudden, a gentleman of 
very prepossessing aspect approached her ; when the little 
Cupid sprung upon his feet, and spread his wings ! Oh, how 
the heart bounded into action — we thought that every rib 
would have been smashed to pieces ; the colour rose to her 
cheeks ; she took the arm of the gentleman, and all the time 
the little god kept fluttering his wings about, maintaining a 
continued ecstacy of rapture. At last they parted ; the words 
" Good bye I" escaped their lips, and little Cupid dropping 
his wings, the palpitation grew more moderate; he gently 
laid himself again amongst the auricles and ventricles, and 
still kept on his incessant mischief of tickling the sides of the 
poor heart with his hair-like arrows, and, depend upon it, he 
will never quit his lodgings till he's sated with the honey- 
moon, when he will flee away, and then molest some other 
hapless maiden. This is love, kind reader, and you will not 
find it better described by any poet in the kingdom. We then 
cast our eyes towards Blackpool, and beheld a gentleman rise 
from the breakfast table, with an egg in one hand, and a piece 
of toast in the other ; he stepped into a machine from his own 
lodgings, and was immediately surrounded by the ocean; 
after finishing his breakfast up to the neck in water, he threw 
away the egg shell to the billows, and returned to his apart- 
ments, evidently pleased with the diversion. At Cheltenham 
we beheld a Tunbridge gentleman getting well so fast of the 
gout that the paving stones were actually afraid of him ; and 
a serious affray took place, near the Victoria Villa, between 
him and the Highway Board, the latter declaring that they 
could not keep them in repair in consequence. At Lytham 
we watched an enormous sturgeon washed on shore, which 



140 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



was immediately opened by the fishermen, and, strange to 
say, therein was found the gentleman's stays which were lately 
lost, and cried by Peter the Bellman. Fleetwood was looking 
particularly gay, and, to our shame be it spoken, far outstrip- 
ping us. We cast one farewell look upon our own shores, but 
as nothing could be seen but dogs and donkeys, gooseberries 
and gauze handkerchiefs, bathing-gowns and Ormskirk gin- 
gerbread, we requested Mr. Lawson to put the prices of 
admission down to the repeal of the corn laws, declaring our 
intention of wiping off altogether. 

Preparations for the approaching Rural Sports. 
— There is scarcely a pig in the Tillage with an ungreased 
tail ; the vilest scum from the vilest sugar is laid aside for the 
treacle dipping -, an unredeemed hat, from a Churchtown 
pawnbroker, is waiting to be stuck upon a pole; every sack 
is distending its calibre for the accommodation of the donkey 
boys ; the lowing boats are in an uproar ; musicians are 
almost bursting with wind to blow their instruments ; one poor 
fellow cannot hold much longer — he's puffed to the utmost ; 
donkey-girls are taking lessons in the Polka, Mazourka, Valse 
a Cellarius, Valse a Deuxtems, &c, to be ready for the ball ; 
donkeys are put upon a ginger diet ; fireworks are ready to 
explode ; and we only hope that as all things are in such a 
burning state, the iron may be struck as soon as possible. 

The other night a gentleman, in rather a Shaksperian 
humour, honoured the theatre with his peculiar presence, 
but the rain coming down heavily, he was very soon wet 
through. Considering it, however, to be a part of the play, 
he very good-humouredly sat still until he was washed from 
his seat, when he left the place, declaring he would never go 
to see another sea-piece as long as he lived. 

Education. — My dear young friends, we last week spoke 
of Henry II. : we have now to speak of Richard I., surnamed 
Cceur de Lion, or the Lion-Hearted, and I can recommend 
him to you as being a very brave and noble man. (Silence, 
ladies !) He ascended the throne inflamed with a desire of 
going upon the Crusade — (I think you made a remark, Miss 
Ringlet. Now, do be quiet — that's a good girl ! Well, lady, 



EPITOME OP THE VILLAGE NEWS. 141 



if you like it better)— and entered into partnership with 
Philip, King of France, for that purpose (I think your side- 
comb fell upon the ground, Miss Hairpin) ; but Philip was an 
invalid, and returned from the Holy Land to France for his 
health. (Southport was not then known, Miss Shore, or, being 
so valiant, he would no doubt have stayed at the Bold Arms.) 
Still Richard went on from victory to victory, and took the 
renowned city of Ascalon. (How many miles is it from 
victory to victory, did you say, Miss Furlong? Whatever 
number you please.) He defeated Saladin j but his army 
being wasted by fatigue and famine, a truce of three years 
was agreed upon. (No, Miss Prim ; there's no vulgarity in 
the name of Saladin. Sarahdin would not be more correct.) 
Richard consequently began to think of returning home 
(Yes — no doubt his mother would be glad to see him, Miss 
Pet, like yours at the holidays) ; but, poor fellow ! he got 
thrown into prison in Germany by the cruel Emperor. (I'm 
aware, Miss Felon, that begging is not allowed by the magis- 
trates ; but that was not his crime). Now, this part of the 
history is very beautiful and pathetic. (Gammon! That's 
the most vulgar epithet, Miss Slang, that you could use. 
You must have picked it up from the donkey-boys. Do let 
me proceed.) A poor minstrel chanced to be passing the 
dungeon in which Richard was confined — (No, not with a 
box-organ, Miss Grinder) — and happened to play a favourite 
air which was familiar to him, Richard responded to it from 
within ; and thus the place of his confinement was discovered. 
(Miss Ringlet, do give over twisting that hair of yours round 
your finger ; I'm sure it's pretty enough without so much 
attention. You wicked hussy, if you dare to wink at me 

again I'll — I'll But no matter.) Upon the payment 

of a very large sum of money, the brave Lion-Heart was 
again restored to liberty, and nothing could exceed the joy of 
the English on his return; all sorts of revelry and joy were 
manifested. (Dear me ! Miss Green, do extend your views a 
little further. Treacle dipping indeed ! Was it very likely 
the nobility would souse their heads in it ?) Poor Richard, 
however, was soon after killed by an archer whilst besieging 
the Castle of Chalus, but (like his noble nature) with his 



142 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



dying breath he forgave the murderer. (Miss Needle, are you 
aware there's a hole in your stocking ? You'd better just tie 
your sandal over it.) He was succeeded by his brother John, 
who was a very bad and wicked man. No, not something 
like me, Miss Ringlet. I never had a pupil yet that took 
such daring liberties as you. My dear girl, do behave your- 
self ; indeed you have excellent abilities if you would but use 
them.) He murdered his nephew Arthur, who was the lawful 
heir to the crown ; and Shakspere has written a fine tragedy, 
named " King John," on this circumstance. (I'm sure you 
never saw it at a peep-show, Miss Fib.) It was he, however, 
that signed the famous Magna Charta — (I did not say Mar- 
gate Water, Miss Earwig ; you must be deaf) — which granted 
to the barons and citizens greater privileges than they ever 
enjoyed before. He died, however, at last — (What did you 
say, Miss Ringlet ? Of course he did 7 . Well, I know that!) 
— and was succeeded by his son Henry III., who was a very 
weak and feeble monarch. (No, Miss Limp ; I do not mean 
to infer that he walked on crutches — I speak of his intellect.) 
However, in his reign magnifying glasses and magic lanterns 
were invented, by Roger Bacon, the Friar — (I don't know, 
Miss Quiz, whether his mother's name was Gridiron or not) ; 
also cider, linen, and tapestry ; and the mariner's compass 
was discovered. (Miss Mole, have you used the tweezers this 
morning?) He was succeeded by his son Edward I., sur- 
named Longshanks. (Now, what are you laughing at ? The 
poor fellow could not help his shanks. You know very well 
that shanks will vary.) He was a brave and wise king, but 
cruel to the Jews ; he subdued Wales and annexed it to 
England, and carried on a war in Scotland with great success. 
(Well, when I came out to-night I'm sure I had a snuff- 
box. That vile Ringlet !) But in this reign lived the famous 
William Wallace. Now, my dear pupils, I pray you remem- 
ber this man as the brightest gem in English history. With 
a heroism almost incredible, he supported the fallen armies 
of Scotland.) God bless me, Miss Hawful, the idea of him 
fighting with an eye-glass. No ! he fought with the hearts 
of his countrymen.) And, my dear and lovely companions, 
whenever we part in life (for young ladies will get mar- 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



143 



ried !), let me entreat you to make the qualities of this man 
the standard of your husbands, and I will pledge my repu- 
tation that you will be happy throughout your pilgrimage 
on earth, and smiles far brighter than ours will beam upon 
you when you die. (Have you any nails left on your fin- 
gers, Miss Lloyd?) I would not have you, however, to 
condemn King Edward, for he was never cruel but from 
motives of policy. He expired July the 7 th, 1307, in the 69th 
year of his age and the 35th of his reign, after having added 
more to the solid interests of the kingdom than any of those 
who went before or succeeded him. And now, my beautiful 
and very lady-like friends, we must part, for, to tell the truth, 
I'm not very well to-night. (No ; Fve not been up to some- 
thing, Miss Ringlet.) I think a change of air would be the 
best. (Wigan, indeed! Miss Spinner; well, I like that!) 
Suppose we all have donkeys and ride over to Mushroom 
Cottage. (You don't know where it is, Miss Lovely ; look 
about and no doubt you'll discover it.) Come, just deliver 
up my pocket-handkerchief, and we'll be off. What ? You're 
determined to have a walk round the reservoir ? Well, I 
never heard such a strange notion in my life. Surely, when 
you've been round all the poles — east, west, north, and south 
— you'll be ready to go home. Well, let's be off ; and then 
goodnight! My lovely and affectionate pupils, believe me, 
not a minute will pass over, sleeping or waking, without 
thinking of you, and I hope to meet you all next week, in 
much better health than myself, at the 

Ionic Academy, corner of Nevill-street. Terms per week, 
without board — Threepence. 



Elegance of Conversation. — We are not eaves-drop- 
pers generally — it is against our nature ) but we were com- 
pelled to hear the following conversation between two nurse- 
girls the other evening on the Promenade : — 

" Is your missus out to-night, Isabel ?" 
" To be sure — she always is, Matilda." 
" Where does she go to, Isabel ?" 
" To the Bathing Baths, Matilda." 



144 EPITOME OP THE TILLAGE NEWS. 



" And don't you go with her, Isabel?" 

" No ; I stop away, Matilda. The air's too cloose for me*" 

" Then how, in the name of fashion, does she dry herself, 
Isabel ? She's lame in both hands with a pallylitic stroke*" 

" She never does dry herself, Matilda; she comes home wet." 

"Wet! Isabel?" 

u Dripping, Matilda !" 

" Why, gracious ! How is that, Bella ?" 

" She expires so much, 'Tildy*" 

" Lor, Bella ! Then what do you do with her ?" 

" She goes into 'sterrix." 

"What is 'sterrix?" 

" Fits, above a bit, 'Tildy." 

" Lor, Bella ! And however does she go in 'em ?" 

" We tell her she looks horrid yellow, and blue about the 
mouth." 

" And what then ?" 

" She calls for brandy." 

" Good gracious ! And what then ?" 

" We give it her, and get her into bed, and let her expire 
as much as she likes \ but she's as dry as a stick in five 
minutes, and tells us to leave the bottle on the table and 
mind our own businesses, which we do, and run at once to 
the embrace of " 

" Well, I never !" 

" Oh, but I did ! But let's be off !— the children will be 
cross ; it's nine o'clock ; I put 'em to bed before I came out, 
and haven't had time to give them anything since breakfast, 
and they were only vacciniated yesterday*" 

And so the confidential couple repaired to the duties of 
their avocations. 

Saturday, August 16, 1845. 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 145 



EIGHTH WEEK. 

VISIT OF HER MOST GRACIOUS MAJESTY QUEEN 
VICTORIA AND HER ILLUSTRIOUS CONSORT 
TO SOUTHPORT, 

We are thrown into the greatest excitement by most im- 
portant despatches, which only reached ns last night, con- 
taining the rumour of her Majesty's intention to visit 
Southport on her return from the Continent. We have not a 
single moment to lose, as the most strenuous exertions will 
scarcely be adequate to the short time allowed for preparation. 

The principal attraction which has induced her Most 
Gracious Majesty to land upon our shores is the far-extended 
fame of the Ionic Pillar — her Majesty being unable to rest 
by day or sleep by night till her curiosity is sated. 

The royal squadron, in returning from Germany, will not 
deign to notice Liverpool, but merely move past, as in a 
panorama, and at once sail for our coast. 

The following illustrious personages will form the escort of 
the royal visiters : — Sir Robert Peel, Sir James Graham^ the 
Duke of Wellington, the Duke of Buccleugh, Col. Bouverie, 
the Duke of Argyle, Colonel Anson, the Earl of Lincoln, Lord 
William Lennox, Earl De la Warr, the Lord Chamberlain, 
the Earl of Haddington, the First Lord of the Admiralty, 
the King and Queen of the Belgians, the Duchess of Buc- 
cleugh, the Maids of Honour, and the Duchess of Kent ; and 
Louis Philippe, King of the French, will perhaps form one 
of the party. 

The royal yacht, containing her Most Gracious Majesty and 
her illustrious Consort, is expected to arrive a fortnight hence, 
at half-past four o'clock, p.m. (wind and weather permitting), 
in convoy with the Black Eagle and Porcupine war-steamers. 

Thundering pieces of artillery are in preparation to grace 
the frontiers of the Promenade ; the speaking-trumpet of Mr. 
Lawson is undergoing thorough repair ; banners, emblazoned 



146 



EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 



with the royal arms and endless devices, will grace the sand- 
hills ; and the proud flag of England will wave in haughty 
triumph from the Mount. The 5th Dragoon Guards, 11th 
Hussars, 13th Lancers, 15th Infantry, Churchtown Yeomanry, 
and Ormskirk Militia, in glittering helmets, will form in 
columns on the shore, and the united bands will send forth 
their welcome greetings to her Majesty. On the first sight of 
the royal squadron, a salute of 40 guns will be fired, and the 
frigate Csesar, 74 guns, together with the Laura, 120, under 
the command of Vice-Admiral Sir Henry Rigby, K.C.B., 
will sail to greet them. We cannot express one-tenth of the 
deafening cheers which will rend the very heavens on their 
arrival. 

On alighting from the royal barge, her Most Gracious 
Majesty and her illustrious Consort will proceed on donkeys 
to the village, which will be magnificently decked out on this 
occasion ; the rest will be drawn in carriages. On arriving at 
the Promenade, a salute of twenty guns will be fired from 
the several bathing-machines, which will be most gorgeously 
adorned with water-nymphs and sea-goddesses. Jump, in 
a blue flannel uniform, with a wreath of roses round his head, 
will greet her Majesty on one knee, and Ball and Bolton, 
similarly attired, on two. 

The royal party, it is expected, will alight from their 
steeds on the banks of the Nile, where, in order to give effect, 
Prince Rimmer will play the part of an alligator. The 
magistrates, in their robes of office, with wands of purest 
white, and three yards long, hung round with pearly ribbons, 
will then bow before the Queen, and present the keys of 
Southport upon a cushion of crimson velvet ; and should any 
damp or moisture threaten to violate the feet of her Majesty, 
Viscount Ball will doff his coat, and spread it on the ground, 
in imitation of Sir Walter Raleigh. The magistrates walking 
before, and the royal party following, with the proud array of 
military pomp and far-resounding strains of music (principally 
from the Churchtown yeomanry and Ormskirk militia), will 
move forward along the Egyptian banks, and on arriving at the 
Original Hotel (where the Pretender once took refuge) three 
deafening cheers will be given. The Wellington will be 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 147 



superbly embellished with variegated colours of the costliest 
silk, inscribed with loyal mottoes — " The Prince and Queen/' 
" The Crown," " The Church," " The State," &c. Ladies of 
surpassing beauty will grace the windows; white handker- 
chiefs will be waved, and no coloured ones will be allowed. 
After having acknowledged these demonstrations of respect, 
the crowded procession will move on, amid loud and continu- 
ed cheering. A glass of sherry wine will be handed from 
the Visiter Office on a beautiful piece of plate constructed 
like the caduceus of Mercury, in order to enable the Queen 
and her illustrious Consort to bear against the overwhelming 
effects which will take place at the sight of the Ionic Pillar. 
As nearer they approach this splendid piece of architecture, 
the music will become more loud and eloquent ; the counten- 
ances of the royal party grow more animated, and the Prince 
will doff his hat, which very appropriate example will be 
followed by the rest of the nobility. At the corner of Nevill- 
street the procession will halt, the gorgeous armies be drawn 
up into squares, and what remains of them will form a line, 
in battle-like array, the whole length of the village. The 
Pillar will have no decoration whatever, her Majesty having 
expressed a wish to view it in its native loveliness and sim- 
plicity, quoting, at the same time, the sentence — " Beauty when 
unadorn'd's adorned the most." Her Majesty, in company 
with the Prince, will then alight to gaze upon it from the base, 
the peculiar virtues of which will be delineated by the magis- 
terial authorities. The excited multitude will here burst into 
enthusiastic cheering; three volleys of artillery, and six of 
musketry, will be discharged, the echoes of which will be 
heard on the confines of the metropolis, where the London 
reporters will be anxiously listening. The following address 
will be read to her Majesty on a throne erected by the 
Pillar :— 

" to the most high and mighty sovereign victoria, 
by the grace of god queen of great britain and 
ireland, defendress of the faith, &c. 

"Well, Vic, how are you ? We didn't exactly expect you; but as 
you've come, you're welcome. What do you think of the Pillar ? No- 
thing like it at Buckingham Palace ? Your crown would not buy it. 



148 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



We're very glad to see you ; upon my word we are ; for, to tell you the 
truth, we love you. By the by, Albert, how are you 1 You stick so close 
to your wife, there's no seeing you. How are the children ? Has little 
"Wales got all his teeth yet ?— fine lad — very ! Take a cigar ? How long 
are you going to stay ? We know of excellent lodgings at 4, Blundell's 
Buildings— ten shillings the parlour, and half-a-guinea the bed-room ; 
extra for cooking. Do you take Punch in now at the palace— eh ? 
You've heard the trick he played us— haven't you ? Mean — was it not ? 
Dirty in the extreme. We're glad you don't take it; we wonder you ever 
tolerated such a sink-hole of scurrility and abuse : but we'll send you a 
Visiter every week. But perhaps you feel hungry— eh ? Sea-air sharp- 
ens the appetite. Have you made up your mind about the lodgings 1 
Well, then, let the procession move on to the fourth palace of Bluodell's. 
We speak plainly— don't we 1 But we know your Majesty dislikes cere- 
mony ; you're always jigging about, you know. What do you think of a 
donkey to the New Inn or Little London ? — Hyde Park's nothing to it. 
Very well; we'll talk of it to-morrow. We just have to say that our 
hearts are loyal and in the right place, and when occasion calls us, just 
compare ours with one of the Cockney's, and see where the fidelity lies. 

" God save you and the Prince !" 

After much bowing and scraping, and other complimentary 
grimaces, the Queen and Prince will pass along the line of 
infantry to 4, Blundell's Buildings, where the Earl of Church- 
town, for his gentlemanly bearing and address, will stand by 
the portals of the ponderous gate to meet them. Sir Henry 
Hodge will then receive them at the door, and show them up 
the alabaster staircase. Lord John Robinson will do the 
honours of the table, and Admiral Rigby will make himself 
particularly entertaining. Here strains of music, with the 
roar of cannon, will chronicle the entrance of her Majesty, 
and such demonstrations of loyalty be shown as will give to 
Southport a golden immortality. In the evening the house 
will be superbly illuminated; fireworks will startle the very 
atmosphere ; the praises of her Majesty will be sung by the 
village ladies, clad in white, and wreaths of the rose, the 
shamrock, and thistle (take care the latter is not too prickly !) 
will embrace their lovely brows — God bless them ! The 
health of her Majesty will be closely guarded by the medical 
gentlemen of the village ; and while defended by such pro- 
fessional ability, the absence of Sir James Clarke will not be 
regretted. 

The most active preparations are on foot. Mr. Mawdesley's 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 149 



elegant stock of drapery will be displayed in banners and 
decorations; Miss BilliDgton's exquisite shellwork will be 
presented for the inspection of her Majesty; Mrs. Fisher's 
stock of delicious confectionary will be doubly increased ; 
collections will be made at the churches; Mr. Staley's "pine 
apples and other foreign fruits" will come in admirably ; the 
hotels will be crowded to the utmost ; and such a welcome 
will be given to Victoria and Albert on their arrival in South- 
port as never, in the annals of their reign, has yet been wit- 
nessed. 

Viyant Regina et Princeps ! 

Education. — My dear young pupils, it is with feelings of 
the deepest sorrow that I meet you all this evening, for I have 
an announcement to make which weighs very heavily upon 
me, and causes many tears to drop upon the paper as I write ; 
the pen, as well, keeps dropping tears of ink, to the great 
annoyance of the blotting-paper — showing, however, the 
sympathy it feels with me in parting. The truth is that, 
owing to the heavy pressure of business — the visit of the 
Queen, &c— necessity compels me to close the academy. It 
was my intention to have gone through the history of the 
kings, and in so doing I am confident the endeavour would 
have been crowned with success, had time and opportunity 
been granted. But the will of fate be done — not ours. I 
shall not easily forget, my dear young pupils, the many plea- 
sant moments we have passed together ; and, believe me, in 
parting, I shall feel that many of those happy rays which 
sometimes shine amidst the storms of life have set in gloom 
for ever. (Miss Ringlet, what have you got your handkerchief 
to your eyes for? What do you say? You'll be a better 
pupil ? My dear girl, you were never a bad one.) I have 
often thought when together, and whilst looking on your 
lovely countenances, that could we all meet twenty years 
hence by the side of the Ionic Pillar (for it will stand for 
ever), what changes will have taken place. I can imagine 
Miss Ringlet a countess, Miss Lovely the wife of a clergyman, 
Miss Prim the wife of a magistrate, and Miss Lloyd the lady 
of an officer. For my poor self I feel perfectly convinced 



150 EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 



that I shall be hanged or transported long before that period ; 
and, believe me, when I am toiling on the hulks I shall often 
heave a sigh to you at the same time that I am heaving some 
tremendous load upon my back. (Thank you, Miss Lovely, 
for this little ring ; I will wear it for your sake.) The prizes 
will be awarded without delay, having previously been exhi- 
bited upon the Pillar for the edification of the public ; and 
not only these, but prizes far more elegant than I can give, 
you are entitled to. And now, my dear and affectionate 
pupils, farewell ! Go forth into the world the brilliant cha- 
racters I have made you ; and in this lone and dreary pil- 
grimage, where the thorns are many and the flowers few, oh ! 
may you never feel the canker of disease, the sting of poverty, 
or the early hand of death. Believe me that the sky of dark 
adversity will sometimes gather round you ; yet may the 
rainbow of success and peace propitiously rise over you ; and 
bright indeed and deep will be your happiness, should it be 
but the answer to my prayer for your prosperity. And, oh ! 
suffer me for one moment to be serious. Forget not that 
there is a God above, who would not that you should always 
be dwellers on this earth, but angels by his side in heaven. 
(Miss Ringlet, you would make a very pretty one.) Farewell ! 

Saturday, August 23, 1845. 



NINTH WEEK. 

Law Intelligence. — A very startling rumour has just 
reached us from some unknown source that a quarrel having 
arisen amongst our village ladies as to which is the most 
beautiful, they are positively going to law about it. We will 
anticipate that each lady has employed most learned and 
very able counsel to vindicate her rights. What scope for 
eloquence ! Flowers will grow up in the very throat, and 
blossom into language ! As thus : — My lord, I am scarcely 
able to defend my client, for my emotion chokes me. (Ahem ! 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 151 



ahem !) Gaze upon those charms for but one moment, and 
if sober sensibility remains, you are not a mortal, but a God. 
Those azure orbs of sapphire glory — the eyes — which angels 
might have formed to view their beauty in ! — those bright 
celestial mirrors, or patent blue reflectors ! (A drink of water.) 
My lord, I dare scarcely speak of the vermilion lips. We 
talk of coral — trash ! Within those lips which breathe the 
honied accents of my client repose the virgin blood of all 
earth's tenderest ornaments. The dove ! — the gentle lamb ! — 
the robin -redbreast ! This blood, my lord, is first distilled 
with nectarines of richest flowers, borne up to heaven by 
fragrant angels, smiled on, breathed on, mingled with the 
perfumes of the celestial still, purified three times in glory, 
and returned into the lips of my enchanting client ! Oh, my 
lord ! if you be mortal, why not burst your skin and leap 
about in rapture ? (A smelling-bottle instantly !) — Another 
we might imagine to hold forth thus : — My lord, my learned 
friend has spoken of blue eyes. Why, rny lord, there is not 
a cat in the village but possesses them ; and even gray eyes 
may be turned to blue by rubbing them with onions. But 
when we revert to black ones, it is then, my lord, we feel the 
truth, like the glorious sun behind a cloud. What astrono- 
mical refulgence can burst forth to fire them ! Like stalac- 
tites in the grotto of Antiparos, the thoughts of the supernal 
mind both glance and glisten in their impenetrable depths ; 
and in uniting with such transcendant glory, you feel your 
passport to the gods is certain. (Water ! Quick !— very ! 
His eloquence overcomes him !) Then view the delicate com- 
plexion ! — so clear ! — so white ! — so unlike earth ! — so bright! 
— so crystal ! Oh, my lord ! might not the infant angels 
which sometimes hover round our earth till big enough for 
heaven — oh ! might they not, in wintry seasons, skate upon 
it ; and, my lord, no doubt they do. Oh ! if you but possess 
one millionth part of the sensitive susceptibilities of mortality, 
why not stand upon your head in rapture, imagining at the 
same time that your legs are in the skies, and as you gaze 
upon my client, wish that you were back again on earth, to 
dwell upon her charms for ever. — Some other orator, choking 
with emotion, would then pour forth : — My lord, black eyes 



152 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



and blue ones have certainly been drowned in eloquence ; but 
as my learned friend has said that gray eyes may be turned to 
blue by rubbing them with onions, so black eyes may at any 
time be made by a consistent thump upon the face. My 
lord, black eyes are odious : with black and blue we can only 
associate the idea of a brutal husband and an ill-used wife. 
I shall waive, my lord, the paltry advantages of face and 
feature, and confine myself to figure. Behold my client ! 
Oh ! my lord, think not of Venus when attired by the Graces ; 
but look on bona fide flesh and blood, enriched by natural 
beauty. The swan-like neck, the tapering waist, the arm of 
symmetry, the filbert finger — to say nothing of the thumb ; 
and then, my lord, the beauteous adaptation of the joints 
devoid of dislocation, and the fragile bone devoid of fracture. 
My lord, but look upon the combination of the whole — 
remember but for a moment the Egyptian Cleopatra, and lose 
your senses in an ecstacy. — We will then imagine that my 
lord declines the bursting of his skin, the standing on his 
head, and the losing of his senses in an ecstacy, sums up all 
the evidence, and comes to a rational conclusion. He will 
thus speak : — The beauty of each lady so eloquently defended 
I have listened to with pleasurable and agreeable considera- 
tion ; yet, gentlemen, in this particular dilemma I feel I am 
no judge, for it is impossible, amidst so many counterbalances, 
to come to a decision. All are indeed beautiful ; and if from 
these divine materials one glorious being might be produced, 
there would stand in Southport an eternal monument of supe- 
rior beauty to every empire in the world. 

Notice. — We are frequently very much annoyed at the 
conduct of several persons in this village, who, we are happy 
to say, are not residents, walking past the Ionic Pillar without 
either moving to or bestowing one recognising glance upon it. 
Now, those who are guilty of such misconduct can only be 
descended from the heathen, or otherwise their education has 
been shamefully neglected. It bespeaks a rudeness which 
is not consistent with the character of either a lady or a gen- 
tleman ; and we advise those who would not be held up to 
public scorn to remember that there is an eye inside the Pillar 



EPITOME OP THE VILLAGE NEWS. 153 



Vhich can telegraph to us the names of those who make the 
necessary obeisance ; and those who dare neglect it — let them 
tremble. Moreover, it is the privilege of none to come within 
a circle of five yards round it ; instead of which our blood 
occasionally boils to see the filthy coat of some adventurer 
defiling its most natural beauty. If such people cherish no 
regard for earthly matters, let them recollect that there is a 
sacredness about the Pillar which if violated will tend to no 
important good hereafter. 

A Treat. — Mr. Samuel Lover, we rejoice to hear, will 
honour Southport with his presence, and give his entertain- 
ments on Monday evening next. If we give him his desert, 
he will no doubt give us a treat. 

Curiosity Satisfied. — We could not help, on Wednes- 
day evening last, being struck with curiosity on viewing the 
steeple of the Old Church. There are three clocks with their 
faces towards you, and apparently three others below them 
with their backs to you. We naturally asked ourselves the 
question that if these clocks beheld each other face to face 
would they quarrel ? The query was immediately solved by 
hearing them strike* 



Saturday, August 30, 1845. 



TENTH WEEK. 

THE RURAL SPORTS. 

During the week, the village has been particularly gay — so 
much so, indeed, that it is feared the depression which must 
necessarily succeed to the excitement will be productive of a 
low or typhus fever, and the village will be ravaged by a 
pestilence. However, we will hope for the best. The rural 
sports have certainly been long anticipated ; but whether the 
anticipation or the reality has afforded the most amusement, 



154 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



we leave to the discretion of our readers. Waiving all party 
opinions, let us just view, as in a panorama, the events which 
have passed away. As regards ourselves, we stand unbiassed, 
alike fearless of the opinions of those who condemn or applaud. 
The first evening of the week certainly opened with a " treat" 
which, we were glad to see, was cordially appreciated, for a 
more gay and respectable audience it has never been our 
lot to witness. Mr. Lover is a man of undeniable ability — 
not only excelling as an author, but rich in the personifica- 
tion of those characters his imagination has conceived. One 
mournful feeling only damped our enjoyment of the evening, 
and that was the remembrance of poor Power, whose 
closing scene was (as is too well known) in the depths of 
the wide Atlantic. Between Power and Mr. Lover there is 
a close resemblance ; and it is impossible to watch the one 
without thinking of the other. But what was all this talent — 
those eloquent addresses — those soul-enlivening songs com- 
pared with the celestial tones of the piano ? It was too 
much — it was indeed ! At the first touch the sense of our 
mortality seemed to pass from us, and it became a matter of 
doubt of which world we were the inhabitants. We thought 
that the instrument might certainly have been better; how- 
ever, let us temper justice with mercy. The tale of " The 
Gridiron " was very well told, and made us as hot with 
laughing as if we had been roasted on it. The anecdotes 
illustrative of Irish character were well given, though, we 
allow in one or two instances more famous for their humorous 
delivery than their originality. This, however, must at all 
times occur in order to diversify the monotony of the en- 
tertainments. Now, we are bound to confess, as honest men, 
that, as regards ourselves, we enjoyed that evening more than 
any other of the week ; and to animadvert at any length on 
the succeeding days would be a work of supererogation. 

The revel (if it may so be called), on Wednesday last, was 
certainly as well conducted, and perhaps as gratifying, as the 
position and circumstance of the place will suffer; at all 
events, if the crowded assemblage of spectators during the 
three days' festivity be any proof of satisfaction, there has 
certainly been sufficient evidence to pronounce them good. 



EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 155 



As regards the sailing or rowing matches, they are scarcely 
worthy of comment, and it was frequently a matter of no 
small difficulty to determine which were the competitors, and 
which were not. Xow, from this we should be sorry if an 
inference were drawn that anything like disrespect is em- 
bodied in the remark ; but it must be acknowledged by most 
that frequently a race was half over without the spectator 
being aware that it had actually begun. The firing of a gun, 
or some signal better calculated to attract attention at a mo- 
ment, would, in our opinion, have contributed materially to 
the interest which is naturally felt in any contest. We thought 
the belles of the village appeared pleased with the gingling 
matches, or, at all events, were blind to the defects, and indeed 
it would have been a shame to call the competitors over the 
coals when they only had the sack ; however, like all other 
bells, they smiled upon the ring, and evidently did not wish 
a repeal of the fun. An adequate degree of mirth appeared 
to compensate the gallant hero for his toil in swarming for the 
leg of mutton, although we thought the unsuccessful ones 
looked rather sheepish on the subject. "With respect to the 
hat, it could be no matter of consequence to it whether it was 
obtained or not, for it would only be taken from one pole to 
be stuck upon another. The prize awarded to the winner of 
the foot race was ten shillings, owing, we presume, to the 
natural circumstance of his possessing ten toes ; thus fixing 
the rate of value on each toe at one shilling. We sincerely 
hope, however, that he may be well shod for his trouble, and 
nailed into the bargain. In speaking of the horse races, we 
confess that the greatest treat we had anticipated was the 
match announced between Captain Jackson and Mr. Hurst — 
the former upon Polly-the-milkmaid, and the latter upon 
Romeo. This latter character of Shakspere, however, de- 
clined the contest ; and though we rejoiced to see the gallant 
captain, in blue and white, issuing forth from Coronation 
Walk at a gallop, yet we are certain that we were jockied out 
of much amusement, and the spur of excitement taken from 
us at the very moment that we looked for a stir-up. The 
gallant captain, we are sure, will pardon us when we assert 
that, like good civilians, we respect the dignity of an upright 



156 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



corporation. He will, at all events, permit us to congratulate 
him on his success; and may Polly-the-milkmaid always 
come within the pale of glory, and remain the cream of her 
descent. The pig races we thought rather swinish, and some- 
what slippery subjects ; however, it is easy to please most 
people with a little soft soap, if we cannot actually hold on 
to their affections. 

The ball we considered of rather too bounceable a character 
for our society, and, consequently, we rebounded from the 
impudence of intrusion; not that we have anything to ad- 
vance in condemnation of it, but, not feeling particularly well 
up in the Polka and Cellarius, we were somewhat apprehensive 
of disturbing the harmony and regularity of the evening, and 
we therefore sought, in the solitude of domestic life, whatever 
solace rose up in bold relief. 

The concert, on Wednesday evening, was well attended, 
which, we rejoice to say, implies a willingness on the part of 
the public to encourage what is really deserving of patronage ; 
and we think there was a mutual willingness on the part of 
the amateurs to render it as entertaining as possible— at least 
all went very smoothly ; and though a white squall came 
rather unexpectedly upon us, it did not detract from the en- 
joyment of the evening. The National Anthem was sung with 
so much loyalty and correctness, that it is almost a matter of 
dispute if her Majesty will ever die, but remain a mortal pickle 
to the end of time. The efforts of Miss Banning, Messrs. Hudson, 
Aughton, Wright, Banning, and Greenall were very strenuous, 
and highly deserving of praise ; and as for Mr. Johnson, 
he appeared as bass as ever, for he seems capable of descending 
to the lowest pitch, and, what is more remarkable, the more 
he attempts to improve in this particular capacity, the loioer 
he will get. We should, indeed, be guilty of unpoliteness, did 
we not attempt to say a few words in praise of Mademoiselle 
Richereaud. Our ears, we believe, are not naturally musical, 
but we understand from excellent authority that she differs 
very much from us in this respect. Her voice is powerful, 
and, when modulated by time and practice, we hope she may 
attain that pinnacle of fame in the musical world to which 
her talents certainly entitle her. 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 157 



A grand display of fireworks, by Mr. Francis Johnson, of 
Liverpool, on the ground opposite the Union Hotel, concluded 
the week's festivity. We were half afraid at times they would 
not go off so well as was expected; but we remained silent, 
not liking to damp the ardour which was naturally felt by the 
committee. We thought at times we heard a hissing in the 
crowd, but it merely proved to be the rockets in a very phiz- 
zing and excited state ; however, the proverb teaches us that 
self-praise is no recommendation; but as these admirable 
pyrotechnic works actually hissed themselves, we must reverse 
the proverb, and believe that self-condemnation is a very good 
one. To use a vulgar epithet, we shall express our sentiments 
the best by admitting that there was really a good flare up. 
We could not help being forcibly struck by the reflection that 
a better night for the ladies could not have happened, for 
there were positively sparks in any quantity, and not only so, 
but many matches were made on the occasion, which caused 
them to look as proud as Lucifer. The atmosphere was very 
brilliantly and gaily illuminated, for which it was no doubt 
very grateful. When the fire began to slacken we retraced 
our footsteps homewards, went to bed, and dreamt that we 
were rockets flying off to heaven ; but on awaking in the 
morning we discovered we were only on the stocks. 

The band was a very fair one indeed. The trombone is a 
very fine fellow, and so is the French horn ; but the big drum 
beats them all in action, although, as we occasionally observed 
the sticks, we could perceive him show the white feather. 
They were men of many stripes, and if their heads are not 
deeply re(a)d, their legs and bodies will most assuredly com- 
pensate for the deficiency. 

"We wish them success wherever they go, 

" With rings on their fingers and beils on their toes." 

The weather, we may observe, has been remarkably fine^ it 
having been bespoken by Mr. Lawson for the occasion. The 
latter part of yesterday was rather more gloomy and dark 
than usual ; but this was purposely done, in order to give 
greater effect to the fireworks in the evening. The bets upon 
the races, we believe, have been enormous, especially with 
the ladies. Gloves have been lost and won in great profusion ; 



158 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



but this is not to be wondered at, when we consider how fond 
they are of pairs in any shape, and, we need scarcely add, 
the matrimonial form especially. We should have liked to 
have had a finger in the pie, but were elbowed out whenever 
we attempted it. Along the shore the greatest bustle and 
excitement appeared to prevail : all looked gay and, for 
aught we know, happy. There were the sober as well as the 
drunken, the loser as well as the winner ; but we are bound 
to confess that the expression of countenance on all was much 
the same. 

And thus has passed away the rural sports of Southport for 
the year 1845 : how long they will be continued for the 
future, we leave to the discretion of the spectator. For our- 
selves, we have been pleased more than otherwise ; but this 
must be owing to the fact that little minds are easily amused. 
Nothing upon earth is perfect; but we cannot withhold 
from giving all due praise to the committee for their strenuous 
exertions to please. It is not only creditable to their heads, 
but honourable to their hearts, for the profit belongs not 
to themselves, but to the multitude. We beg to tender 
them the thanks of the public through the medium of our 
humble journal. They have certainly held firmly together, 
and we hope they always may. If we, as chroniclers of 
public events, have delivered any sentiment not consonant 
with those of others, we can only add that we are bound 
to speak according to the best of our belief; and think not, 
reader, that we arrogate any praise to ourselves when we 
assert that we have never yet felt the power which could 
prevent us. 



Saturday, September 6, 1845. 



ELEVENTH WEEK. 

We have been haunted during the week by a very singular 
kind of spectre which, wherever we walked, was constantly 
behind us. And this is more curious when we reflect that the 



EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE KEWS. 



159 



wind has been particularly variable, yet, no matter what quar- 
ter it blew from, this same ghostly article was at our heels. 
It was in the shape of a dirty piece of paper, and though 
many pieces of paper are wafted about by contending breezes, 
we could always identify the same. At last invited beyond 
measure we waived our dignity and took it up, when the fol- 
lowing items were subservient to cheating a few moments of 
their monotony. Wherever the gentleman may have come 
from who has incurred the enormous expense set down to him, 
we must at least give him credit for his temperance. It was 
a bill made out we presume by some landlady or other in 
Southport, and we give it more as a specimen of the beauties 
of orthography than any other : — 

" Mr Broun owes me 

Sally Grearson what is here 



Feal 
Hegs 
Butther 
Flower 
Peese 
Am 

4 pun of ros bif 
Shugger 
Gusburies 
Tatos 
"VTeshin 

Laid down [we presume cash] ♦ . 
3 pennuth of tincter of rubub . . 
A chimley sweepin u sed u wud pa for } 
if it wudclunt smook . . 5 

Sunderries 



4 pens 
6 pens 

1 shillin 

2 tuppens 
4 pens 

6 pens 
2 & 4 pens 

7 pens 
2 pens 

2 more pens 
Nothin 
\ a crun 

3 pens 

2 shillins 
a groat 



Pleas had em up an sa wot it is 
Maid hall rite by Sally Grearson " 



Breach of Promise of Marriage. — From our Orms- 
kirk correspondent we are given to understand that the most 
serious results are likely to arise from a breach of promise of 



160 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



marriage, and a case of furious litigation to disclose the ins 
and outs of this peculiar courtship. As we have been favoured 
with all the particulars, and the correspondence carried on 
between the parties, we will, with our usual urbanity, submit 
them to the public. The names of the parties we fully give. 
The defendant's name is Titus Treakle, a dashing young gro- 
cer; and the plaintiff, Sophia Mantel, a phizzing young 
dressmaker. Now it so happened that one day Titus Treakle, 
as he was leaning on a sugar cask, passed his hand carelessly 
across his chin, and came to the conclusion that he wanted 
shaving. Accordingly, wrar>ping his apron round his waist, 
in the manner of a general, and depositing a few sweet 
almonds in his pocket to beguile the time, he bounded across 
the street to the establishment of a barber, vulgarly called a 
perfumer. It was during the time of the shaving operation 
that the parties mutually reciprocated to each other ; for as 
Titus sat upon the chair with a towel round his throat, and 
his chin and whiskers buried in soap-suds, with his eyes turned 
heavenward, Miss Sophia Mantel chanced to stop at the win- 
dow, for the purpose of inspecting a sidecomb to control her 
lovely ringlets. Titus, struck with admiration, gave such a 
start that the razor had nearly taken off his chin, and it was 
thus, whilst bleeding under the butchering hands of the bar- 
ber, that the heart of Sophia Mantel melted, and " she loved 
him for the dangers he had passed," and " he loved her that 
she did pity him." Titus, holding his pocket-handkerchief to 
his chin, hastily pursued her, resolved that as the blood poured 
from him he would strike while the iron was hot. He pursued 
her from street to street, until arriving at the end of a very 
long one Sophia turned into a dark-looking alley, and it was 
here that Titus declared the secret of his love — how he had 
bled for her, and was bleeding; how for months he had 
watched her and admired her (though he had never before seen 
her) ; all these combined, however, had the desired effect of 
captivating her heart, and after sundry successive meetings 
and appointments (to the great neglect of his master's busi- 
ness), young Titus fixed the day of the wedding, and actually 
had bought the ring for the occasion. Now, there is an old 
saying, and we believe it to be very true, that " there is many 



EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



161 



a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip," and the proverb could not 
be more substantiated than on this particular occasion. M T hen 
the gallant young Titus came to the resolution of taking his 
beloved for better or worse, or perhaps both, he naturally 
expected that he had bargained for the usual quantity of legs 
and arms which constitute a human individual. However, it 
so chanced that about a week previous to the day appointed 
for their marriage that poor Sophia, with the eagerness of a 
dove to fly to her mate, was returning from her day's work, 
and, fearful of breaking the punctuality of her appointment, 
skipped upon the top of a very high omnibus to increase her 
speed, when, sad to relate, after travelling about a hundred 
yards, the wheel of the vehicle came off, and poor Sophia was 
pitched with desperate force upon the top of a pump. Drop 
a tear, dear reader ! — one leg was so terrifically fractured that 
amputation was the consequence ; three fingers, and the half 
of an arm, were likewise lopped off from her fair proportions, 
and, though the heart of Titus Treakle grew soft with pity, he 
declared she was not the woman he had taken her for, and 
unfeelingly recommended her to the retirement of an hospital. 
Now this was too bad ! Poor Sophia ! it nearly broke her 
heart; but revenge succeeded with the reaction, and gave rise 
to the very serious law-suit which will shortly be decided. 
Now, it is a remarkable fact that people when in love, how- 
ever incapable they may be, are remarkably fond of giving 
vent to their feelings in poetry, and, with the reader's permis- 
sion, we will just open a few of their epistles and disclose 
their elegance of composition. The following is from Mr. 
Titus Treakle to Miss Sophia Mantel : — 

" My dear Sophia 

I'm all on fire 

Like one in hell's proud gap ! 

To-night I'll come 

With figs a drum 

And throw them in your lap ! 

Your devoted lover to the end of eternity, 

Titus." 

Now this is very expressive, and carries with it a double 
meaning, which must at once be obvious. The " proud gap of 
hell " seems to indicate a conviction on the part of the writer 



162 EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 



that at some time or other it will become familiar to him ; for 
in the succeeding lines where he speaks of the drum of figs, 
there cannot be a question but that he intends robbing his 
master to a fearful extent* However, we will just compare 
one of Sophia's with his : — 

" My everlasting tender Titus 

Do come to-night for to delight us 

And if you'll only say you'll come 

Care not a fig about the drum 

But say you have a certain raison 

For to go out on some occasion 

Your ever ivy-like clinging 

Sophia." 

Here it will be evidently seen that although a good deal of 
grocery is mixed up in these lines, there is also a strong pro- 
pensity to be witty, showing as well the heavenly-mindedness 
of woman to rescue man from the paths of vice, for she appears 
to disregard the figs, and only figuratively to make use of the 
raison to enable him to fly to the embrace. Treakle would 
no doubt appreciate this kindness, for he thus writes : — 

" All obstacles I will set at defiance 

For on you only do I put reliance 

But if I come and take a glass of wine 

Will you through thick and thin swear you'll be mine?" 

Now although this is a very posing question, it was precisely 
what Sophia wished, and our correspondent informs us that 
Titus did go, and made a rash vow. This all took place, pre- 
vious to the accident, and in all probability the vow would 
have been held sacred had not the accident occurred, or even 
if the fragments of the lady could have been put together. 
Titus however disliking the idea of only part of a wife, abruptly 
broke off the engagement, and poor Sophia became a wreck. 
But here lies the fatality — the rock on which poor Treakle 
will be thrown. Stung by disappointment, he one night sought 
the consolation of a tavern, and, whilst deep in his cups, his 
old affection for Sophia got the mastery over him, and in a fit 
of desperation he wrote the following effusion, and repented 
in the morning : — 

" Once more I feel myself on fire 
And hear me swear my dear Sophia 
That had you neither arm nor leg 



EPITOME OF THE TILLAGE NEWS. 163 



But merely oval like an egg 
I swear by all that's false and true 
I think that's really fair— don't you ? 
I'd stick to you like Treakle still 
And marry you by Jove I will ! 
I am, celestial Sophia, the man that swears to wed you, 
Shagbag Hotel, Hawgust 10, 1845. Titus Treakle." 

It would be useless to remind the reader that this last letter 
will be fatal to the cause. He seems in good spirits ; but it 
appears to us, that whether he marries the girl or not, he will 
have to sustain some heavy damages. 

The Greatest Bore on Earth. — A man of fine feeling 
or eminence travelling through a village taking up his residence 
at what he considers perhaps the wealthiest and most honour- 
able dwelling in the place, when, as frequently happens 
through the loquacity of servants, he discovers that the lady 
is the daughter of a tailor, and the gentleman the scion of a 
huckster. 

The following are two letters which we think will show the 
change of feeling after the awful event of matrimony. We 
think also they must refer to some commercial man, for there 
appears a degree of business mixed up with both of them : — 

" My Dear Louisa— I am prosecuting with the greatest ardour the 
journey which fate has allotted me, and I attribute the success of my 
labours to the energy which the thought of you inspires me. I envy not 
wealth ; yet I would toil as would an African that 1 might lay a golden 
fortune at your feet, and suffer not your utmost wish, however extrava- 
gant, to die unsatisfied. Oh ! when I remember that parting glance you 
gave me at the door — when I call to mind the honied accents of thosa 
beauteous lips, the pressure of that silken hand, I but regret that I un- 
fortunately was not born a king to place you on a ^throne where nations 
might adore and envy you. Till I see you again, oh ! dearest Louisa— 
(and every second will appear an eternity), I will think of you, and pray 
for your health and happiness, till fate unites us in the holiest bonds. 
I am, yours unto death, 

Gustavus Gasper. 

After six months of matrimonial life, the lady who should have 
been a queen and never have a wish refused, receives the 
following : — 



164 EPITOME OF THE VILLAGE NEWS. 



" Dear Louey — I never felt in such a horrible humour in all my life 
— I can't get a single order. Just go to Johnson the landlord, and see if 
he won't take less rent — thirty pounds a year is far too much. What a 
mercy it is we have no family ; how the deuce should we keep them. 
You must pull in a little more, and if you have any dresses you don't 
much care about, just pawn them ; because every little helps. By the 
by about the butcher's bill? just say that I shall be home in a week and 
will settle with him, although at the same time I'll be hanged if I do — 
if I have to wait for my money, he shall wait for his. It's rather a pity 
that you are ill in bed, however, if you don't get any better, just call in 
the druggist at the bottom of the street, and perhaps he can patch you 
up. I expect to be at home some time or other, so till then— adieu ! 
Yours truly, 

Pig and Whistle, Sunderland. Gustavus Gasper." 

Comparisons are odious ; and this is one of them. 

It is a singular circumstance that last week, there was 
scarcely a single fish of any description to be had in either 
Fleetwood or Blackpool. This, however, is easily accounted 
for, as all of them would swim to Southport to view the races 
and rural sports. 

We cannot help feeling delighted at the joyful expression of 
countenance which all the donkeys in the village are assuming. 
This no doubt arises from a consciousness that the season is 
nearly over. 

Saturday , September 13, 1845. 



THE END. 



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